Episcogranny

Full Circle

2012-01-23T16:32:00.000-05:00

In November we moved back to South Dakota from Vermont after several months of preparation. Speechless from rage at first, both literally and in my writing (or lack thereof), I'm rediscovering my voice, reaching again for the pen. As my anger subsides, I find myself tired, fragile. After all, this is the third cross country move we've undertaken since summer 2007. Toss in the loss of both of my parents just 4 months before the second move and one finds a recipe for total breakdown. But, I have adapted before and will again. I just hope the constant chaos that comes from not having a steady place to plant will end.

That said, there is one more move in the immediate future. We rented an apartment in St Louis where we can live part time. South Dakota never will be my home. Missouri is the place I refer to as "home" when I say, "I'm going home for a visit." And St Louis is the place where Taciturn and I met and married in the late 90's. We both like it, and thought eventually we would end up there. He says he must have a place in the Black Hills where he can just be, a place to return to gather strength. Unfortunately the place from which he draws strength has the opposite effect on me. So the compromise is the St Louis place, to which we'll go starting in March. A lovely side benefit of going back home is proximity to the Episcograndchildren who now live in St Louis as well. Living in my home state, with my son and family just 25 minutes away instead of a 17 hour drive--well, that is just a bit of heaven on earth for this midwestern gal.

Please pray for my friend

2011-05-30T18:43:00.000-04:00

I'm surfacing from a wild and crazy life to link to Kirsten's blog. She has melanoma that has spread throughout her body, and she is too ill to be left alone any longer. Andee, her friend and roommate must work, so they need help. Please read the bloglink and if you can help, please do. Above all, please pray for them.

Christmas Prayer

2010-12-26T17:46:00.000-05:00

Dear God, the troubles of our world have left many of us speechless. We don’t know how, in the numbness around jobs lost, illnesses we don’t have the resources to cure, a planet imperiled by the accumulated effects of our greed, and the seemingly endless presence of war and violence, to say our prayers. We are lighting candles, though – in our Advent wreaths, quietly, in side chapels of our churches, in our rooms where no one else but You can see. The candle flame is our prayer, wordless but filled with meaning, with petition, hope, and faith. And the candle flame is your answer to our prayer. You lighten our darkness, O Lord. Amen.

-- Marc Andrus, Bishop of California

Taciturn, Am I Going to...

2010-11-28T13:43:00.003-05:00

In my last post, I mentioned the emotionally wrenching exercise in which my hospice class engaged during the last meeting. The premise seemed straight forward enough. We stood in a collective circle. Then we each asked the person next to us a devastatingly simple question. "Joe, am I going to die?" Then Joe (or whatever that person's name was) was to answer, "Yes, Lauralew, you are going to die." Then you answered the question for the next person. The rules were we were to use names, and speak in complete sentences.

All righty then.

When my parents died so close together less than a year and a half ago, my notions of mortality were brought very close to home. Never have I felt like I have been afraid of death, although I admit I'm in no hurry to experience it. The work I engaged in most of my adult life has been spent in its presence, and I feel familiar with it. But the idea of death was an intellectual one --something experienced by others--until my parents died. Suddenly I realized at the deepest levels of my being that I could die, not only me but also my husband, my son and my grandchildren. This new revelation is close to the surface practically all of the time.

This seemingly simple exercise was not at all simple. The young woman next to me was already awash in tears when she asked me the question. I could answer it for her, but slowly and in a whisper. I could not state in my professional voice tuned by thirty years of intensive care, oncology and hospice experience, "Yes, Jane, you are going to die." I always had thought I came across as empathetic, but now I wondered.

Then it was my turn. Of course, since I took the class with Taciturn, he, my husband, was the one of whom I had to ask this question.

I couldn't do it. Not right away, at least. Instead I stood with twenty-three other people all watching me and cried my eyes out. I felt the need to explain, "This is my hus--" I couldn't even get out the word husband. Of course, everyone knew T was my spouse anyway!

Finally I croaked, "Taciturn, am I going to die?"

"Yes, Lauralew, you are going to die." His answer was brisk and professional, like the physician he is. Then he quickly turned to the next person and asked almost nonchalantly, "M, am I going to die?" And so on.

We did not speak of the exercise afterward. I never presume to speak for him, but for me this was valuable. To have the experience of having someone say to me what is true for all of us and internalize it was so moving. Plus it begged the question: Am I as unafraid as I always say I am? Also, to put myself in the place of my patients in that manner is not something I've ever done before. This was a starkly jolting experience, very useful and powerful for me.

On Tuesday I meet my first patient as a hospice volunteer. I'm driving up with the volunteer coordinator for introductions then hang out with the patient for the afternoon. I'm looking forward to it.

Now for a Laughter Break

2010-11-20T16:10:00.003-05:00

My hospice volunteer training finally ended last week after ten sessions. Obviously this was not the most mirth inspiring time I've ever spent, and one could argue that since I actually used to work as a hospice nurse it was a waste of time. The very last day, though, we undertook a deeply powerful yet emotionally wrenching exercise which certainly was not a waste of anyone's time. I plan to write about it, but not today.

Today I will celebrate laughter by posting the link to Hyperbole and a Half so you can experience some of the most humorous writing and illustrating that I've seen for a while. The post I linked directly to reminded me of my moving experience with my two cats this past spring and had me laughing for twenty minutes straight! Do read and enjoy!

The Writing Life During Unsettled Times

2010-11-08T17:12:00.006-05:00

“Every word on your blog is not a word in your book,” says Sherman Alexie (Writer’s Digest, Sept 2010, p. 36). That could be why I have ignored my blog for so long--those who are my Facebook friends know that I took an online creative writing class over the summer. Due in large part to the encouragement of my instructor, I honestly can say I have a work in progress--my book. Written in third person limited, which is really hard to stick with, the protagonist is a middle aged college professor at the turn of the twentieth century whose checkered past collides with his genteel and stable present. This character and those who move in his orbit have been in my mind for at least ten years and have been the subject of many a musing on long car trips. I decided to use some of the characters for projects in my class. The tales got such rave receptions that I was compelled to share the story of my protagonist and by default, the stories of those important to him as seen through his eyes. One character's story has gotten incredibly meaty and I may spin her off into her own book.

Some days, though, I don’t want to tell the story of my protagonist. I want to tell my own story, the writing of the novel of my life. In that work, I wish to answer questions such as where I am going to live? How will I get there, and when? My book is important, but its success is predicated on how the rest of my life and its distractions play out.

In my last post, I said when I assumed that Taciturn wanted to move as well, I was wrong. I took his ennui, his reluctance to get involved with life outside of our house as a sign he was no longer happy where we lived either. When he told me he did not want to live in Vermont, he mentioned that when he realized that I needed to move, he started weaning himself away from the things he enjoyed doing in the Black Hills so he would not miss them so much. He did not tell me what he was doing, and I missed the signs totally. Looking back, we either talked past each other about moving, assumed many things, or didn’t talk at all.

Now we are in the same situation we were in while in South Dakota, although now he is the one who needs to move. Since our SD house did not sell, he would like to go back. But, he had put it on the market to rent, and when it did not rent right away, assumed it would never rent and started making arrangements to move back into it. Imagine his surprise when someone did sign a year long lease! He was so certain it would not rent out that he did not take it off of the market.

Having someone move into the South Dakota house is a blessing in that it gives us time to think through and talk about what to do. He knows I refuse to live full time in South Dakota. We know many people who own two homes. We’ve spoken off and on for years about living in St. Louis, a city to which we both have deep individual ties as well as ties as a couple. That may be the answer to our dilemma--keep the rural South Dakota house and live there part time, and buy a small city house in St. Louis for the rest of the time.

If we do want to buy a city house in St. Louis, then we have to get the house we just purchased into shape to sell. Two painters have come out to estimate the job (though haven't gotten back with numbers), and I plan to call another. Also, real estate moves slowly here. In order to turn it over quickly, we will have to underprice it and just accept that we will take a very expensive bath.

With all of this stress on my mind, it is difficult enough to stay present in my own life, let alone live another person’s as I write. To go back to Sherman Alexie, if I had tried to write words in my book, I think I would not have written a single word today. Please keep us in your prayers and good thoughts as we work toward a decision that both of us can accept.

The Vermont Adventure, So Far

2010-11-04T17:10:00.005-04:00

(Written two days ago. It is pouring rain at present.)

The sun just peeked out from behind the clouds to shine on the mountain for the first time in days. The weatherman last night announced that this was the 4th wettest October on record in the Champlain Valley, the region of Vermont in which I live. Only Son’s daughter was here on a long awaited visit last week; it rained every other day while she was here. But to look out of the window onto the valley and see the layers of cloud cover over the lake and the lower areas was, and is, magnificent. Even Granddaughter was struck by the loveliness.

Yet as I type this, peering on occasion through the window to see faded autumnal colors against a brilliant blue sky, I know that I won’t see many of these Vermont Octobers.

Taciturn has decided that although he likes Vermont, it is as a place to vacation and not as a place to live. He doesn’t feel as if it is home--his home. We have been here all of eight entire months and have not yet completed unpacking. But his decision is made.

Several unfortunate things have happened that I’m sure influenced his decision. One was the house we bought. We were had, no way around it. Structurally it is more sound than not. But we realized after closing that there was a reason the art work all remained on the wall until the last minute, etc. The furniture and the art were arranged to hide a multitude of cosmetic sins such as large carpet stains, holes in walls, things like that. We paid major money for a secret fixer upper. Of course we purchased the house from a real estate lawyer, so no point in attempting to recoup anything.

Soon we realized that many of the windows did not close. The inspector told us some of the windows would need to be replaced, but after we moved in it was obvious most of them needed to be replaced. Kissed one full week and many, many thousands of dollars good bye.

The summer this year was extraordinarily hot. Living in northern New England, we did not think we would need an air conditioned house. Most houses aren’t air conditioned anyway. Taciturn is very susceptible to heat and suffered enormously. We inherited a room sized portable a/c unit, but it didn’t do the job. We purchased another, larger unit but needed to install a vent hole in the wall; we hired a fellow who had worked for the previous owner to do that for us. He agreed to the job--but never came to do the work. Meanwhile, at my new parish, I met a construction worker. He ended up doing the job after a few weeks of suffering while we waited for the first fellow.

Other things happened, but the biggest reason Taciturn decided that Vermont was not meant to be his home was that the house in South Dakota, the big house with all new appliances and newly painted walls that he always loved, did not sell. Taciturn, while not a religious man, began to consider maybe God did not mean for it to sell so again it could be his home. He said nothing to me about this gnawing inside of him.

As Taciturn mused, I threw myself into creating a life. I joined a health club and took up spinning. Saturday mornings I walked into town and bought a weeks’ worth of veggies at the farmers’ market. I had coffee with friends. Writers’ workshops were easy to attend as so many were close. Many Episcopal churches are in the area and I visited until I found a lovely small parish in which the people love each other as a real family. I even was invited to write an essay describing the role of the local alternative newspaper in our decision to move. Imagine my amazement when my essay was published on its own page!

Yet it seemed the more I threw myself into this new life, the more my husband backed away. The day after I submitted the essay to the alternative newspaper, he announced the epiphany that Vermont never could be his home. I had noticed that he did not seem to engage in life here, but he did not engage in life in South Dakota, either. There I was out of the house and busy all of the time but wanted to move away. He said he wanted to be there but seldom left the house. While still in South Dakota, I took that ennui to mean he really wanted to move away also.

Turned out I was very wrong.

More to come...

More House News

2010-04-07T06:56:00.004-04:00

The long and the short of the story is that we are not moving into the house cited in my last post. The home inspector came to inspect it and there were major water issues that could have been dealt with, but we did not want to. Water is such a force of nature. Water always wins. The yard did not drain well, the sump pump was "jury-rigged", the washer and laundry tub drained into the sump pump. Several electrical safety problems existed as well. The longer we were with the home inspector, the sicker my stomach got.

After a couple of days of thought, we decided to take the contingency we had in the contract and back out.

But, there was a house we always had in our back pocket. I've had my eye on it since it came on the market, via Realtor.com. We gasped when we went for a showing, it was so wonderful. The reason we did not snatch it up when we first saw it was that Taciturn did not think he wanted to live in the town in which it was located. As time went on, though, he realized what I had known all along--the town is a pretty special place. I think that realization helped him to come to the decision along with me to cancel the first home contract. So the same day we cancelled the first contract, we put an offer on the other house. After a few rounds of negotiation--the seller is a lawyer--mainly over occupancy date, we signed a contract on the house we have viewed almost as a dream house for months. The kitchen has everything I've ever wanted in one. Truly it was built for a cook. The entire front of the house has clear views of the Adirondacks across the lake in New York state, yet most of the large lot is wooded. It is a lovely home by a quintessential Vermont town. I can roll out of bed in the morning and walk a block and a half into town, then another couple of blocks to the bakery for a bagel. The New Haven River runs along Main Street. Water, mountains, view, walkable town--there you have it.

BUT--the home inspection looms next week. If that is ok, we press. Even if it is ok, we can't move in until mid-June. But anyway, the time will pass. After the home inspection, I'll post some photos.

House News

2010-03-30T16:40:00.004-04:00

Last Wednesday Taciturn and I viewed four houses. One was the home of a smoker and the carpets were old and markedly filthy; another was way too small; one was very expensive yet needed extensive remodeling; the very last was breathtaking. It was the the third least expensive, immaculate, with custom draperies and other nice touches included. We went back to see it on Friday and placed an offer. We found out we were not the only ones enraptured by the house; another couple had placed an offer. We waited most of the day Saturday, then in the late afternoon, after a bit of dealing on the final price, learned the house was ours! Hurray!

We had partially started the financing process, and today T called to let our mortgage company know we had signed a contract on a house. After that, it only took 20 minutes for them to issue a loan on the condition we send in a few documents. That was it. Unless there are other snafus, we should be able to close before May.

The town in which we will live is the same town where the RevDrMom lived prior to seminary. On Palm Sunday I visited her former parish and liked it very much. Small world.

On the other home front, for two weeks no one has viewed the house we have for sale. We dropped the price a bit today to try to get people in the door to see it, and will drop it more if need be. We are more interested in getting rid of it than in making a lot of money.

A home in a place where no one told us we absolutely had to live. Amazing. Taciturn and I figured out how many times we have moved; I certainly win with eighteen moves since 1985. I'm tired of moving. It is time to sink my roots and live in a place without one foot out of the door.

Update from Vermont!

2010-03-12T11:28:00.002-05:00

Yes, Lauralew is still alive, but relocated.

A bit over two weeks ago, Taciturn and I locked up our Black Hills home for the last time and hit the road with our two felines. We drove a day behind a horrendous snow storm (no dearth of those this winter), which caused only a couple hours’ worth of road angst in and around Erie PA. We moved into our interim Vermont home, a 160 year old furnished red farmhouse, on Sunday February 28th. Our gracious landlord came over to check on us not long after. She gave us a quick update on the quirks of the house and the property and the customs of garbage disposal, recycling, etc--which we absolutely needed to know as they are quite different than in western South Dakota.

This is a nice home for the time being. Definitely would not want it forever--we are here in Vermont’s mud season so it is a wild ride down the dirt (mud soup) road into town, for example. It is a bit far out of the closest town. Even if all else was perfect, one of the quirks of the property that the landlord mentioned would totally preclude this house from consideration for a permanent home. But it is a good base for househunting.

We had one offer on the Black Hills home, which has been on the market for almost six weeks. We turned it down as it was so awful it was almost insulting--it made many assumptions about us and our motivations, let me just put it that way. Eventually it’ll sell.

VTCrone has been just wonderful to us since we arrived. She and her husband received five large packages for us that I had shipped ahead, brought us some yummy lasagna which made four meals, and took us to a wonderful restaurant just four miles from our rental. Also, they allowed me to tag along to church with them this past Sunday at an Episcopal congregation that meets in an old schoolhouse in the town of Jerusalem, VT--thus the name Jerusalem Gathering. The bishop of Vermont, Thomas Ely, visited that particular Sunday; he said to me afterward, “What’s your story? You obviously know your way around Episcopal liturgy.” We talked for a while. He was very nice. Everyone I met was pleasant and cordial. It’ll be fun to go on a normal Sunday.

Househunting has started in earnest. We have driven all over the west central area of Vermont looking at villages and neighborhoods. Right now the pickings are slim for homes that we would consider in our target areas. For example, we fell in love with the town of Richmond, VT last summer. Taciturn’s ideal home would be an older home right in town. One that fits that description in our price range has railroad tracks just past the back yard and a packaged meat distribution center one block away in the front. Not for us. Elsewhere we have found two houses that would do, but we are not sure yet we want to live in the village where they are located. We do not have to make a decision now, thankfully.

As for Lent--what’s that? Hard to maintain a discipline when I don’t feel yet like I live anywhere. I brought some books to read but at present when I’m not actively working at a task, I just pace around the house.

As we get into a rhythm of life here in this transition phase, I’ll try to be better about updates. One can only househunt so many hours in a day without tearing out one’s hair.

Off to run errands!

See Lauralew on the Move

2010-02-25T20:11:00.004-05:00

What you would have seen if you watched me on Reality TV the last few weeks:

See Lauralew clean and clean and clean. See Lauralew sort and toss, toss and sort. See Lauralew take the three excess computers and other elderly electronics to Best Buy for recycling. See the "For Sale" sign go up in front of Lauralew's house. See her REALLY clean.

See Lauralew double over with abdominal pain every day for weeks. See Lauralew have a CT, blood tests and an ultrasound. See Lauralew jump for joy when nothing horrible was found. See Lauralew take pain pills so she can continue to clean and clean during the move since there is no time for further testing before the move.

See Lauralew ship many packages via UPS to VTCrone, to keep until Lauralew gets to VT. See the movers come and take Lauralew's furniture away. See Lauralew's friend CFE clean and clean the empty cabinets and mop the floor. See Lauralew and Taciturn pack their cars with belongings and cats until nothing more will fit. See them all drive east for a trip that is door to door 1861 miles.

Now see Lauralew and T relax in a motel room with the cats a bit over a third of the way to their new life. And hear Lauralew and T haggle with would be buyers over a "you can't be serious" offer.

Once I am in VT and have a few days to rest, I'll get back to blogging.

Haven't Posted for a While

2010-01-12T11:05:00.003-05:00

Told you I would be busy. I knew the house needed lots of work--but didn’t realize how much. For those who are my FB pals, you have seen the posts about all the work I’ve done to get the house ready for sale. It seems like the more I do, the more I find to be done.

The Realtor who sold us this house in March 2002 came by a week ago. She surprised us with what she thought the house would fetch on the market--much more than expected, and still she apologized that the local market would not support a higher price. But she expects us to do much more than we have done already. Taciturn thought we would put the house on the market that day. I knew better, as I worked for this Realtor as a stop gap job several years ago and knew her exacting standards. She will not list our house until it is as perfect as possible. She wants us to replace the carpet which I thought she might, but Taciturn said no. We agreed to clean it and then check the feedback from potential buyers. If the carpet is repeatedly cited as a problem, then we’ll replace it (we’ve already planned an allowance). Also, we had been afraid we would have to re-stain some of our woodwork but she told me what to use to get rid of the obvious scratches. I tried it over the weekend and it works like a charm. A handyman will be here next week to fix drywall holes and other things, and will get the carpets cleaned closer to our target list date of February 1.

Now it is de-clutter time! One of our downstairs bedrooms has morphed into the designated Taciturn junk room. The Realtor cringed when she saw it. She said, “You are moving, so you need to start boxing some of this stuff up!” Upstairs, I’d spent several hours in our walk in master closet re-installing shelving that had been taken down by our tenants when they were here, as well as boxing up excess clothing. I thought the closet looked pretty good. When the Realtor peered into it, she said, “Of course you’ll tidy this up.” T about fainted. “I thought it was tidied up!” he told me later.

Most of our furniture is really banged up from all of the military moves. We had planned to replace it over a few years once we were settled. Once we realized we would move again we stopped replacing, so much of the old ratty stuff remains. I think the Realtor is relieved that we plan to move out before the house has been on the market long; our place will not be HGTV perfect. (She said she would do a partial staging after we are gone.) Our living room set is so torn up we are not taking it with us but giving it away. It is serviceable, nothing more.

Taciturn lined up a beautiful furnished rental farmhouse in Starksboro, VT with a four month lease. That gives us time to really explore the various villages and houses in our target area before we buy, and four months also gives us time to close. But to get the great rental place, we must get to Vermont several weeks earlier than originally planned. Instead of around the end of April, as we had planned somewhat hazily, we plan to be completely out of this house February 23.

What we long have dreamed of and planned for is coming up very soon. I can’t believe it.

Sunrise, December 30th

2010-01-01T21:42:00.003-05:00

From my bedroom window.

Beginner's Mind, from Richard Rohr, OFM

2009-12-28T09:12:00.007-05:00

This essay came in an daily email I get from Richard Rohr. I read it over and over. First I saw faces of a few people I know who live in absolute certainty yet I consider to be pretty ignorant. Then I wondered, "Ooh, who says that about me?" May I consider things prayerfully, and not just go with my knee jerk reaction. I've done that before, and been badly burned. Like Fr. Rohr says, that's ego. Without opening oneself to further wisdom, that person operates at an infantile level. Ouch.

BEGINNER’S MIND
December 28
Feast of the Holy Innocents

Question of the Day:
How can I incorporate waiting for wisdom into my day?

Ignorance does not result from what we don’t know! Ignorance results from what we think we do know—but don’t! Most ignorant people are, in fact, quite certain. “Holy innocents” just don’t know. And what is so wrong about that?
Wisdom is not just knowledge (i.e. data, facts, information), but putting knowledge in larger frames, and frames where I and my groups are not the reference point. It’s connecting new information with other perspectives and goals than my own. Wisdom is the combination of momentary text and full context. Knowledge is about words and definitions. Wisdom includes what is written between, above, and below the lines.
Most people's first reaction is usually based on knowledge, data, and facts, but not necessarily on wisdom. Beginner’s mind is willing to wait and pray for the full picture. So it does have a lot to do with patience—it’s refusing to trust my knee-jerk reaction. The knee-jerk reaction is almost always ego. So you wait and you pray and you listen. And then you might have something wiser to say—something a little more truthful than my little story—or even more than our group story—something that might possibly approach The Story.

Adapted from Beginner’s Mind

Mantra:
Let each moment be a new beginning.

Cold, Remodeling, Snow

2009-12-27T11:54:00.002-05:00

So much for cleaning and decluttering this am. I woke up coughing and choking at 0330 and after a couple of hits from my albuterol inhaler, I still could not go back to sleep. The head cold I had has gone into my lungs, which is tough for this asthmatic. It’ll be gallons of hot tea as well as sitting in a nice hot shower today.

This am, instead of worshipping in church, I said Morning Prayer all bundled up in my rocker. Lovely to pray while gazing at the hills blanketed by snow. One of the books I put up for sale on Amazon yesterday already has sold so I packed it up to send off tomorrow. Only Son’s Bride said she would take some of my old magazines that sit around here; she read of an arts project in which magazine strips could be woven into baskets. A good crafts project for the children, she thinks. Anything to get them out of my house yet be useful is great, I think. I will get a box in which to ship them off, via media mail.

In my last post, I made little mention of my Missouri trip except that I went. My brother Caretaker, whom I dropped by to see, has done an amazing amount of work on the parents’ house. The bedroom where my agoraphobic father practically lived has been totally remodeled. Caretaker tore up the rugs to reveal a hardwood floor; after the sanding and finishing he did, it absolutely gleams. The crumbling wainscoting and flaking wallpaper are gone and the walls are painted an orange tinted brown. New window treatments are up. One would never dream this was the same room. The changes flow into the next room, which was the guest room. It now is an office, also repainted and with new window coverings. The once open closet now has a door.

He has one more room to do, and once that is done it will become his little grandson’s bedroom. But poor Caretaker had to have major sinus surgery this past week, so any further remodeling is on hold. I tried to get in touch with him to see how he was but could not. They do not answer the main household phone as the brother who is in charge of the parents’ estate (why they did not put Caretaker in charge is a mystery) has dragged his feet in paying the estate’s bills, so bill collector literally ring the phone off the hook.

(The story of what happened with my parents’ estate is not only worthy of a blog post, but as a magazine article. It is a cautionary tale of what can happen if a person does not update estate plans. But since it involves family members, it really is unbloggable.)

Taciturn just finished shoveling the snow off of the driveway—at least enough to let a car through. The roads in our subdivision still are icy and slick so I suppose I would not have been able to get down the 8% grade hill that takes us in the subdivision to the main road to get to church today anyway. I’ll post some photos later on.

Second Day of Christmas

2009-12-26T17:01:00.001-05:00

Two weeks ago today I left my SD house for a nice trip to see the Episcograndkids and incidentally, their parents. I left on the one day that snow storms all around allowed me to leave, and started my return trip last Sunday. That was the one day also I could have left and made it all the way home by the next afternoon.

Due to storms, I'd still be in MO had I not left when I did. I love my family but we all would have killed each other by now! Besides, as soon as I returned I developed a viral illness that is not severe but has me operating at a subpar level.

The blizzard we had yesterday, through the night and into this afternoon is beginning to subside. The sun has peeked out--but the snow flurries continue to blow horizontally. Between the weather and my cold, I haven’t been out of the house since Tuesday!

Now the big push begins to get the house ready to sell, and our things ready to move. I listed several more of my theology books at rock bottom prices onto Amazon.com as the new seminary semesters will start soon. After all, the aim isn’t to make money--it is to get rid of the darn things so I don’t have to move them. I’ve mentioned before that I am a huge magazine junkie. Piles of old issues sit all over my house. Today I bit the bullet and cancelled four subscriptions. One of those magazines I haven’t even taken out of the wrapper for months and the others I just flip through and set aside. Time for them to go.

Meanwhile, Taciturn spent Christmas Day on Craigslist. We are beginning to think that we would like to get a short term rental in VT, say three to six months, to explore likely places to live a little more closely. Houses move so slowly there that if we made a mistake and bought in an area we turn out to hate, we’d be stuck there a lot longer. He answered several ads for places all around our target area, and spoke with someone on the phone today. It may be too early to look for a rental as we aren’t moving until March (first we had figured April, but since we’ve realized that essentially we are done here, March is better).

Had a bit of a laugh--one of the replies we received from our queries was pretty aggressive. The fellow asked questions of us that more appropriately would be asked during a credit approval process, not before we knew anything about the rental. I Googled him to see if he was just scamming to steal identities. Turned out that he really does own a lot of rental properties, but oh by the way he is the son of a well known broadcast journalist whose political views T despises. That bit of info I withheld from T. I wanted to see if the place was worth a trip to see. After another email exchange, though, we decided the place he advertises won’t do for us.

I’ll try to keep posting on a semi-regular basis, but since this is low on the priority list I may not post or read much. Lots and lots to do between now and March!

Hunkering Down

2009-12-09T17:54:00.002-05:00

Today the high at my house, according to our Weather Station, was five dgs F. The sky was blue and there was little, if any wind. If you just looked out the window, you would have been fooled. Open the door and you were sorry. I did to retrieve a parcel the UPS man left, and oh did my face hurt. The things in the parcel were still too cold to touch an hour after I brought it in.

I stayed home today. Taciturn did his Meals on Wheels route wearing the parka he acquired when he lived in Alaska. He said that with the sun and no wind, he was toasty warm. While he was gone, I decided to start the deep cleaning part of preparing the house so I started washing the cherry stained woodwork in the house with Murphy's Oil Soap. All of the cabinets, the window sills, the baseboards, and the doors and door frames are cherry stained, so to wash all of it is a lot of work and will take several days to do. I'm starting with the least used and working to the most used for obvious reasons. It sure is lovely when it is done--the woodwork just glows. I did that for a couple of hours today. I wiped the woodwork down then dried it with a dish towel.

The clothes I set aside yesterday I added to today, and I placed it all in a box for delivery to the mission thrift store tomorrow when I go to PT. I also worked on restoring shelves in my walk in bedroom closet to their rightful places. This is another thing left over from when we moved back in 2007. The renters took down lots of the shelves when they were here, which is why I worked on that today. They also took down several doors, which we put back immediately upon our return. The shelves obviously could wait. We really don't own that much. Some of our closets are practically empty. This house is too big for us.

I also found a very helpful website today. Our county has a site where a person can type in an address or a name and find out anything you would want to know about a property. I found out how large the houses are on either side of me and how much the appraised value is. The next door house that will go up for sale this summer that flipped Taciturn out? It really looks nice on the outside, but on the inside, it is 40% smaller than our house and so cannot be considered a comparable to ours. I also looked up how much the neighborhood houses that recently sold went for per square foot. So when T got home from Meals, I had a lot to tell him. Hopefully he will realize that we will NOT have to give our house away.

We decided that tonight is a good night for buffalo chili. I do like a good hearty meal on such a cold night.

Preparation Time

2009-12-08T13:29:00.001-05:00

Thought this would be about Advent, didn't you? Not this post.

Last evening I stacked up a bunch of clothes I no longer wear. I cleaned off a shelf in my bedroom closet and put the stack there. A few drawers need to be cleaned out before I load the entire pile into my car and take it to the thrift shop.

Yesterday I sat on my office floor pulling items out of a cabinet and tossing what was no longer necessary to keep. I filled up a tall kitchen sized trash can with the detris.

In our downstairs garage are six boxes that are as yet unpacked from our move to this place from DC 2.5 years ago. I had planned to get those out of the way this week, but since the temperature currently hovers at zero and will for the next few days, I’m passing for the moment on that activity.

And I ran into the best friend of a woman whose home burned last year. She could use some kitchen stuff, so I’ll go through my massive stash of kitchen supplies to see if there is anything she would like.

If nothing else, this moving stuff motivates a person to loosen unwanted and unnecessary stuff from one’s grasp.

Thanks to VTCrone, I’ve been in touch with a VT realtor. Said realtor emailed me yesterday to answer a question I had about a particular property and to figure out what exactly we want in a home. This is pretty exciting, to actually tell someone who can do something about it what we want.

Meanwhile, I saw my neurologist this morning to follow up on my myasthenia gravis. I have not taken my medication correctly due to horrific side effects, and so have had issues with my condition. So, he simply changed my medication. I should have called him a while back.

Time for a bit of decadent self care in a few minutes—I’m getting my postmenopausal mustache waxed off. I had planned to go see Only Son and the grandchildren later this week but I may postpone it due to weather. Taciturn and I plan to spend Christmas here.

How is it in your neck of the woods?

God is Good

2009-12-08T08:22:00.003-05:00

The following missive came in the morning email from Richard Rohr. I find it is a useful corrective to that viral photo of the fellow at Yale with the sandwich board that proclaims whom God does not love.

MARY, THE PREPARED ONE
December 8
Feast of the Immaculate Conception

Question of the Day:
What does my election ask of me?

“Mary, do not be afraid, you have won God’s favor,” says the angel Gabriel (Luke 1:30).
The word favor doesn’t say anything about the recipient. Favor says something about the one who is doing the favoring. So it’s really not saying anything about Mary. It’s saying something about God’s election of Mary. She is one who is the absolutely perfect receiver, and refuses to play the “Lord, I am not worthy” card that had become normative in most biblical theophanies. She just says, “Let it be done unto me” (Luke 1:38). She lets God do all the giving. Her job is just to receive such perfect giving.
God does not love you because you are good; God loves you because God is good. God does not love you because you are good; you are good because God loves you.

Adapted from Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality, p 178

Mantra:
The Almighty has done
great things for me.

Busy Few Days

2009-12-04T17:58:00.003-05:00

The last few days have been really busy so I'm glad the NaBloPoMo is finished. I could have gotten posts up, but they would have been rushed.

Besides awaiting the coming of the Christ child in Advent, I'm awaiting my move. A few days ago a Vermonter with the handle VTCrone commented on a post from two weeks ago. She offered her email to me for questions. I took her post down due to her personal email in it but we've carried on a lively correspondence since then. She's given me lots of information but more importantly, she has given me a bit of friendship when that's the only thing in it for her.

She gave me the name of her realtor, which is something huge we needed. I emailed that person a little while ago to introduce myself and tell her some of the houses we are interested in that we've seen online. I look forward to hearing from her.

This speaking with an actual potential neighbor has kicked my butt a bit. I've been in our walk in closet tossing big time. I also threw out a bunch of stuff out of the pantry that was pushed to the back and died. I have to take one of the shelves down and scrub it; a can of plums is leaking, slowly :/. I had no clue until I was on the stepladder and noticed a stain on the shelf.

Meanwhile, I mentioned a couple of weeks ago or so that my next door neighbor is attempting to sell his house. On Wednesday, I got a massage from my other next door neighbor, and casually mentioned we were putting our house on the market in ~ February. She blanched. She and her husband plan to move their family this summer to California, where he works in the movie business, and want to put their house on the market in April. The picture is right there in my mind--all of the three houses at the end of our cul-de-sac with For Sale signs in the yards.

Taciturn is in a panic. For whatever reason, he is convinced we will have to give our house away, and now he is doubly so. But two people who recently sold houses told me that actually it may help us; someone may drive up to see one house, see one of the others that is pleasing at first glance, and look at that one also. My physical therapist said last summer four houses on his block sold, including his own. Especially since we hear that ours is a desirable subdivision and that houses for sale are few and far between, that is quite encouraging.

Today was the most brutal PT session I've experienced. He is trying to get my legs stronger and I did lots of weights, squats, leg lifts, etc. He promised me that I'll be sore tomorrow. That's ok. My tomorrow will be spent in an Advent Quiet Day, and then my pals PB and DB and I are driving to Hill City, SD to the Prairie Berry Winery for the Fezziwig Festival. PB goes each year and says it is great fun! Looking forward to it.

The last of November

2009-11-30T15:56:00.004-05:00

Mom would have been 74 today. Very odd not to need to pick up the phone to give her a call. I remember when she turned seventy; when I asked her how she felt about being that age, she said, “I don’t want to be seventy!”

“Well,” I said, “consider the alternative.”

Four short years later, the alternative is the reality.

Otherwise, it has been a good day. This morning I finished and submitted the two hundred word essay I wrote for the Lenten reflection booklet the local Episcopal churches are compiling jointly. My knee feels the best it has for a long time and I had a good workout at physical therapy. I was able to piggyback on a free wireless signal from the café next door to the PT clinic and listen to VPR Classical on my iPod Touch during electrical stimulation, which is a lovely way to pass the time. Feeling guilty after PT, I bought a bowl of delicious chicken chipotle soup for my lunch from the cafe'.

Evensong for the Feast of St. Andrew, the patron saint of my church, awaits tonight. Good to attend church on this day in particular.

Thanks for hanging with me during NaBloPoMo! I think I got something up each day. I’ll see how or if I will continue this much posting during Advent. No urgency now, certainly!

Guess Move is Still Not Well Known

2009-11-29T13:35:00.007-05:00

I was approached to run for the vestry in January. Obviously the present vestry does not know I plan to move. Have the pledge envelopes been opened yet? If so, then those in the know are keeping quiet. BTW, I dodged the vestry question by stating I had done that before and it did not work out for me (true).

Since many of my church friends are also friends on Spacebook, I don't discuss anything related to a move except in private messages. Some Spacebook status updates I have not posted include Lauralew:

--is going through five years' worth of Real Simple magazines to see which ones she will keep and which she will give away. Too heavy to ship. (One of my favorite magazines since it came out.)
--is selling books on Amazon.com for the same reason.
--cannot decide whether to go on her househunting trip before Xmas or after the New Year. A lot of snow either way.
--needs to get rid of a lot of excess furniture; if you need a slightly worn dining room set, a loveseat in need of a slipcover, etc, call me!
--and Taciturn spend way too much time on Realtor.com.
--spends so much time on Realtor.com she does not have time to clean out her basement or cupboards in prep for the move.

And so on. Of course, several of my fellow parishioners have commented on this blog in the past, so I assume they still read it.

Meanwhile, today is the first Sunday of Advent. Our creche is up; our decorating is finished. Now is the time of joyful anticipation, a time of waiting. Waiting is different now than when I was a child. This time is more meaningful now. Happy Advent to all!

Christmas Decorations

2009-11-28T16:09:00.007-05:00

Decorating for Christmas never has been a concern of mine. I worked so many Christmas Days and Nights when I was a nurse that decorating became drudgery instead of fun. Taciturn usually pulled newborn nursery call at Christmas so he never decorated, either. For a long time the extent of our decorating was was to plug in a miniature ceramic tree his step sister gave us. In the past few years we bought a Nativity scene and started putting it up on the first Sunday in Advent, not part of my childhood tradition but definitely part of his. So the Nativity scene is fun, but outside of what I've mentioned, there is nothing to see at our house.

Two years ago I took a photo of the lonely little tree for my grandchildren. Then two year old GS #2 said, "That's sure a little tree!" Only Son's bride each year decorates a lovely, floor to ceiling tree. If I had a child around here, maybe I would too.

This year, though, I received a new decoration. This stocking was crafted for me when I was a newborn--actually started before I was born--by my grandmother Campbelle, my maternal grandmother. She created one of these for each of her grandchildren. This tradition lasted through all thirteen grandchildren; mine probably was the sixth or seventh she made. Along with the stockings sewn for my brothers,this was found in a sealed box when we cleaned out the basement storeroom immediately after Dad's death.

Granddaughter oohed and awed when she saw it. Someday it will be hers.

Taciturn apparently has something similar given to him as a child. This year we think we will put both of the stockings up on our mantle as a way to recall our past family traditions.

Only Son, Guest Blogger

2009-11-27T16:55:00.006-05:00

I had another post ready to go, but then read this post entitled People Who Care Only Son wrote on his blog last night. I'll let him speak here today.

This Thanksgiving I’m thinking quite a bit about my Grandparents who passed away in the last few months. In the past on holidays we have been overwhelmed with the number of places we were expected to go. But now that that is over we are really missing it. It has made me think that I shouldn’t take people who truly care about me for granted. It is so important to know that there are people out there who truly love and accept me no matter what. With friends I am tempted to worry that they might not like me as much if I say certain things or if I truly open up. But with family it is different. I am thinking about my Grandma E who was always delighted to see my family when we came regardless of my political views or whether we said a couple of stupid or annoying things or even if the kids were cranky. So if you have people who truly care about you don’t take them for granted. In this life that is a very precious and rare thing.

How many people live their entire lives and miss this lesson? It is all about love.

Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T16:27:00.003-05:00

A nice quiet day at the home of Taciturn and Lauralew. Have a turkey breast in the oven, potatoes chopped and ready to cook up for mashing, stuffing made, pumpkin pie cooling, and football in the background.

The pall that hangs over the day is the absence of my parents. Out of habit's sake, I called the house anyway and had a nice chat with Caretaker. Youngest is sharing Thanksgiving dinner with them. Only Son and his family are making the rounds of their extended families in MO--her mom, her dad, Only Son's dad and his mother, etc. If nothing else the death of my parents means one less meal for them to eat on Thanksgiving Day.

Although my parents are no longer here, there is much to be thankful for. Taciturn, for one thing! All of my friends and my church, and good reliable health insurance provided by the US government. May all of my fellow citizens get as decent coverage as I have. Yes, I'm thankful for what I have, while knowing many do not have what I do. That is the tension. Prayers for all this day.

Drop in Home Buyers

2009-11-25T16:24:00.001-05:00

While I put the finishing touches on yesterday’s blog post, my telephone rang.

“Hi, is this Lauralew? Great. I’m SR, friend of Professional Historical Preservationist. She told me you would be moving. I’d like to see your house.”

This is one ballsy chick, I thought. I recalled telling PHR about my house and that it would be on the market in January or February. When we met, we had exchanged contact information. She mentioned that she had a friend who was looking for a new house; this was the friend.

“Um, it isn’t listed yet.”

“Oh, I know. That’s ok. I know we kinda are barging in, but I really would like to see it while I’m here.” While she was here?

Right on cue, Taciturn called, “Honey, someone’s in the driveway!”

She went on, “I’m sitting in your driveway.”

Out of the door I flew as SR and her friend C got out of a truck. “We thought since we were here looking at other houses--” she nodded at the house next door--”we’d try to see yours, if it’s all right. We can work a deal and save six percent on a realtor if this works for me.”

T stood in the doorway. I glanced at him; he shrugged as if to say, “Why not?”

So with no warning, I led two strangers on a tour of my home, happy that I had cleaned it a couple of days before. SR had a specific need; she quilts and has what is called a “long arm,” which is fourteen feet wide. She said that she works in a 12 x 20 room which is too small for her machine. She would like a new house with a very large room. After we completed the tour, she thanked me but said none of my rooms would work for her purposes.

Our house is very large with fairly good sized rooms. I laughed to myself--”too small” and “too large” really are relative, subjective terms!

If SR and her friend had come today, they would have seen the new faucets we had installed in the main bathrooms this morning. Plumbers were here for two hours today to install three faucets and fix three leaky toilets. We thought it best to get those tasks finished before the house goes on the market.

The entire episode lasted twenty minutes. I just wonder, as I start to let people know that my house will go on the market soon, will this happen again? When I listed my house in San Antonio years ago, people came to the house unannounced to try to work a deal directly in order to bypass the realtor and “save six percent.” That never happened when we listed the Mississippi house. This could be interesting.

Growth in Inhospitable Soil

2009-11-24T16:53:00.008-05:00

The previous owners of our house in coastal Mississippi planted a satsuma tree at the southeast corner. I had no idea what it was until we noted one small orange fruit the first fall. Since I love oranges, I went to the local nursery to find out all I could about my satsuma tree so I could have more fruit the next autumn. Satsumas grow best in tropical to subtropical climates, and need protection when the temperature drops below 20 dgs F. The ground around the tree needs to be kept moist, and the pH of the soil must stay on the acidic side. A sandy, well drained plot is a must. A satsuma craves sunlight so a southern or southeastern exposure, like our tree had, is best.

After a year of tender loving care, indeed the tree yielded much fruit. I looked forward to another harvest the next fall but the Air Force transferred us to South Dakota. As much as I would have loved to tie my tree to the top of my car and take it with me, I knew that satsumas did not grow in the upper midwest. For one thing, temperatures of 20 degrees or less are common at least eight months of the year. The soil is very alkaline and difficult to make acidic. In this drought prone climate, it makes little sense to use precious water to keep a satsuma wet enough to grow. If a gardener did keep it watered sufficiently, the clay soil would not allow the water to distribute evenly. The roots would rot away.

A plant cannot flourish in all places. Had I taken the satsuma tree from my yard in Mississippi and planted it in my upper midwest yard, it would have died. People also do not flourish everywhere. I never pass on the maxim, “Bloom where you are planted,” as I do not believe it. As a satsuma tree cannot grow and bear fruit where I live, neither can I. Several of my acquaintances also have discovered that their souls are starving in the inhospitable soil and plan to move away. In another post I mentioned the historical preservationist I just met, who plans to leave for the same place Taciturn and I are going. Others are leaving here also.

On Sunday at Safeway, I ran into my friends M and B. During the conversation I mentioned that I was moving. “We are, too!” was the reply. No surprise. Partnered gay men, I was amazed that they had lasted in this area as long as they have. They were here many years, trying and trying to flourish not only in their careers but also as people. M and B threw in the towel and are headed for friendlier climes. The mindset here is decidedly harsh to LGBT persons. M said they no longer trade with many local businesses as they have been so badly treated.

Little exists to hold those of us who are not native to the area. Yes, the scenery is beautiful and hiking is great. A person cannot hike all of the time; real life intrudes. Real life here is based on a one for self vs. a one for all mentality. My subdivision was drawn up to have the front doors as far away from the next house as possible, in order to not be bothered by interacting with one’s neighbor. And not from South Dakota? God help you. An incident that happened soon after I moved here in 2002 illustrates.

Eagerly I attended my first EfM (Education for Ministry) meeting at my new parish. The mentor passed around a roster for us to fill out. The much older woman seated next to me, whom I had never met, handed it to me.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said.

“What did you call me?” Her voice was icy.

“Ma’am?”

“I do not accept being called ma’am,” she said.

Stunned, I said, “I’m sorry, but I just moved here from Mississippi, and down there ma’am is a mark of respect.”

“Well, I’ve always lived in South Dakota—and nobody calls me ma’am.”

Another, more appropriate term was on the tip of my tongue, but I managed to choke it back.

She went on, “You people from the East think you can just come here and push all of your customs on us. I’ll have none of that.”

I signed the roster and passed it on. I had nothing much else to say to this woman over the year in EfM, or now when I run into her around town. Over the years, unfortunately I have met others who share her sentiments. If you are not from here, then why are you here? For years many locals hated the military base because it brought outside influence to the area. In 2004, the government obliged and made plans to close it. Yes, the outside influence would disappear—but so would ten percent of all the jobs in town, and immediately property values plummeted. Suddenly the complaints stopped and most mobilized to petition the government to keep the base and the jobs. It worked; the base stayed open. But the underlying rejection of “Easterners” remains.

Plants as well as people need receptive soil in which to grow. The soil found here is hostile to those who are newly planted. I am not sure what it takes to grow here as a transplant, but each day I am here my soul shrivels a bit more. This is a hard place to bloom where planted, and since there are many other, more welcoming places to grow, why here in this harsh place? Of course people leave by the droves. We will join them soon, headed to well drained and productive soil. We will set down our roots and begin to grow again.

Unbloggable

2009-11-23T18:05:00.003-05:00

Grr. I just spent two hours writing a post and then decided it would invade someone's privacy--therefore not bloggable.

What I should be doing instead of writing unbloggable posts is work on my contribution to our parish's Lenten reflection book. All of the reflections are due in a week. I had planned to finish it early on, but that little distraction called my father's death happened. I forgot all about my reflection until two weeks ago. I've read over the propers for the day I was assigned several times. A bit of formulating is going on in my head. It'll be interesting to see what I come up with--as well as everyone else.

Tomorrow I get the cortisone shot in my knee. No more PT until Friday, to give it a chance to work.

Today I baked two loaves of bread. One was a regular recipe I follow, the other was Almost No-Knead bread from America's Test Kitchen. I saw Chris Kimball making it on TV the other night and thought I'd have a go. It is one of those breads that are cooked in a Dutch oven. Haven't tasted it yet, but it is a beautiful loaf. Its scent is heavenly. Can't wait to have some with the soup I will make this evening.

Not Going to the Doctor

2009-11-22T17:37:00.002-05:00

Dad felt sick. He had a cough and felt tightness in his chest that was not only annoying, but sometimes forced him to gasp for breath.

Sister in Law came home early from work to take him to the doctor. “I’m too sick to go,” Dad told her.

She was upset—she and Caretaker were short of money as it was, and there was no pay for this time—but knowing Dad, she did not allow him to see her frustration. “Well, if you are too sick to go, then you really need to.” Sometimes reasoning with him worked.

“I can’t walk to the car. I can’t get my breath,” he said.

She thought a minute. “Look, I’ll set up chairs all along the sidewalk. You can just walk from chair to chair and take your time to get to the car. If you can’t breathe, you really need to go to the doctor.”

Dad shook his head. “Not going.”

Sister in Law allowed her frustration to show, just for a moment. “Dad, I really don’t want to come in here tomorrow morning and find you dead.”

“I’ll go tomorrow. Don't worry, I'm not going to die.”

So Sister in law cancelled the appointment, telling the receptionist that Dad would reschedule. He did, for the next afternoon.

He never made it. Caretaker came to take him to that appointment and found his body.

At least Sister in Law did not find him.

Children

2009-11-21T19:47:00.004-05:00

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" He called a child, who he put among them, and said, "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me. If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea."

That is GS #2 above.

Small World and Friday Stuff

2009-11-20T16:07:00.004-05:00

Taciturn came home this am from his trip to "Balmore". Sure is good to have him back.

We are on the same page when it comes to what we want in a house in VT. A house is for sale in Richmond, VT that interests both of us. Unfortunately, there are no photos of the bedrooms online. That is worrisome. But a househunting trip may be in my near future.

Oh, and the woman I met yesterday at the coffee shop also is preparing to move to VT. She is headed to Burlington. We both turned to our mutual friend and said, "Come with us!" She sighed and said, "I would, except my roots are here." She also is very frustrated by the mindset of the go it alone ranchers around here who don't see a need to consider community needs as well as their own.

Off to PT. Have a call into the doctor with the PT's suggestion I get a cortisone shot in my knee. We'll see how that goes.

Serendipity

2009-11-19T18:31:00.003-05:00

The physical therapist thinks I should have a cortisone injection into my knee. Fine. Whatever it takes. Thanks for all the good wishes and prayers.

Today after PT, I strolled into a local coffee shop with the intention of composing a quick blog post while sipping a brew. One of my historical preservationist friends was seated at a booth with a woman I had never met. They invited me to join them.

The last time I’d seen my friend was just prior to my father’s death; we had gone to Deadwood, SD to research 1880s newspapers for a grant application. I enjoy historical research and that day was a blast. Today we spoke about other projects that she and her friend, a professional historical preservationist, were starting. Presently they have applied for protected status for the local middle school. Calvin Coolidge stated from that building that he did not plan to run for re-election. Historic windows have been removed from the building and sold to local collectors, which is why my friend wants it protected. We all eagerly anticipate the decision of the state historical board.

The two of them would like some help writing up applications for other buildings and areas. As a huge history buff, I might be able to assist them. They invited me to a meeting tomorrow—but the meeting takes place around the time I expect Taciturn home from Baltimore. So, can’t go. I told them to call me if I can help them with any project.

Home Search Via the Internet

2009-11-19T00:39:00.001-05:00

Realtor.com is our new favorite website. We search almost every morning to see if any new and interesting homes have popped up in our target section of Vermont. Although we are not yet ready to move, this gives us some insight into neighborhoods, where stores and schools are in relation to homes, and where the mountains are in relation to everything.

An interesting trick we have noticed with a few homes is that they go off the market for a while, then return with new realtors and new MLS numbers. For example, two houses that intrigued us no longer were listed on Realtor.com. “They must have sold! Darn!” (We want the interesting houses to stay on the market just for us, until we can get there for a showing.) Remarkably, they both reappeared in the last two days. One had almost all new interior and exterior photos, which revealed to us that a home stager had been at work. Of course it had a new realtor. The other home had a new exterior photo and a new realtor. Both had the same prices as they had when they dropped off the MLS.

Several homes to which we have taken a shine have suffered from ambitious pricing. One of the houses mentioned above had had its price slashed twice for a total of $45,000 during its previous stint on the MLS. A cute little house about 15 miles from Middlebury just had its price cut five percent. Of course, we only can see these homes on the Internet. If we were in Vermont touring them, we might see why price reduction has been necessary, or we might see why we should not be interested in them at all.

A couple of houses we have watched have disappeared never to return. For fun, we looked up a lovely house in Bristol VT over which we had drooled. That house not only went quickly, the owners got a good price for the property. That house simply was not meant to be ours.

Wonder which one is?

Limping Along

2009-11-17T16:49:00.002-05:00

This morning I awoke to a painful, swollen knee.

Today was the start of my third week of physical therapy. My knee is supposed to get better, not worse. And it was getting better.

The therapist and I reviewed my weekend. We could not pinpoint anything for certain that could have caused it. My stretching exercises may have been performed a bit too exuberantly, perhaps. Maybe I should not have moved that loveseat to vacuum behind it on Saturday. Yes, I did go out Friday night with friends, but no, I did not wear high heels. Never do I wear high heels. And yes, I have done the ice massage twice a day as prescribed.

Grr. Taciturn thinks the PT is a waste of time; he is not persuaded that PT works at all. He has encouraged me to quit going, especially after he heard that my knee was swollen again. But what is the option if I do? Limp the rest of my life?

I refuse to roll over that easily. Walking, hiking and other exercise is a huge part of my life and I’m not about to give it up without a fight. Although I am limping today, I’m reassured by words I used to speak to my patients quite a bit: “Tincture of time. Things usually respond to tincture of time.”

Tincture of time and PT. I’ll go back tomorrow.

Placating with Pepsi

2009-11-16T11:31:00.002-05:00

ARUGH… A choking, guttural cry arose from Dad’s bedroom. A stunned Youngest, across the hall working in the office, ran to investigate. Caretaker, who had heard his name called from the direction of the bedroom, emerged from the kitchen at the same time.

“What do you want?” Caretaker asked.

“I didn’t say anything,” Youngest said. “But I heard someone cry out.”

They both turned to stare at the bedroom door. After a long silence, Caretaker said, “I’ll get the man a Pepsi.”

Problem was, the man—Dad—had been dead for three days.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To know Dad was to know that he adored Pepsi. Some of my earliest memories are of him relaxing after work with a Pepsi and a cigarette. In those days, he always was with one or the other. We little kids loved to sneak drinks out of his Pepsi when his back was turned.

(Once as I gulped from his Pepsi bottle, I realized too late that he had used it as an ashtray. To this day I take a quick peek into any bottle before I drink out of it.)

Dad gained 150 lbs when he quit smoking. In a nod to his obesity, he switched from regular to diet Pepsi. After he developed a heart arrhythmia, he easily gave up coffee but could not quit his Pepsi. He started drinking caffeine free diet Pepsi (CFDP), four to five two liter bottles a day.

He prepared his Pepsi as ritualistically as a priest prepares the Eucharist. He took his huge mug, filled it to the brim with ice, poured his Pepsi, and held the bottle by the bottom with one hand as he screwed the lid back on. He kept a folded paper towel on his bedside table to use as a coaster. A day’s worth of bottles stayed lined up against the wall next to his bed so he could open a new bottle as soon as he emptied one.

As his hips and knees became arthritic from carrying so much weight, it was too much for Dad to fetch his own ice and Pepsi. Every few hours he called from his room, “Caretaker! I need some more ice!” When Caretaker brought him the ice, Dad inevitably added, “And get me another Pepsi, if you would.” Caretaker would trudge back to the kitchen for a fresh bottle.

When Caretaker found Dad’s body, atop his open palm was a closed, partially empty two liter bottle of CFDP.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Caretaker got out the old mug, filled it with ice, and poured it full of CFDP. He placed a piece of folded paper towel on the bedside table and set the mug down. “There you go, Dad.”

I arrived a few hours later and was startled to see the mug of Pepsi on Dad’s bedside table. “What in the world?”

Youngest chuckled and shook his head. “Have we got something to tell you!”

They told the tale again when everyone gathered for supper. Caretaker said, “He died so fast he doesn’t know he’s dead! He still wants his Pepsi!”

“Poor Dad,” I said. “If that’s the case, he probably is wondering why no one is getting him any ice when he calls.”

My sister in law started to laugh. “He thought no one would care if he died. And here we are, still worried about getting him ice and Pepsi.”

Caretaker kept the mug replenished until the night before we left for Dad’s funeral. Dad or his spirit or whatever apparently was satisfied. We heard no more shouts from his bedroom.

Thoughtless

2009-11-15T13:32:00.005-05:00

Grief has made me into an inconsiderate person.

Yesterday at the grocery I ran into someone I had not seen in several months. He made the mistake of asking me how I was—I immediately went into the litany of parental death, shoulder/knee issues, and other things. After we parted, I did half of my shopping before I realized that I failed to ask that person how he was. Fortunately I saw him coming down the aisle, so I stopped him, apologized, and heard some really interesting stuff.

Surely I learned my lesson. Not so. I emailed one of the people who attended Dad’s graveside service last month to thank her for her kindness to my family. Her spouse of fifty-five years died only six months before Dad. Did I ask her how she was doing? Of course not. When I awakened this morning, I re-read the sent email and cringed. So I wrote another email to apologize and check on her.

Inadvertent thoughtlessness is something I am guilty of from time to time, as most of us are. But presently for me, it seems the norm rather than the exception. I feel too self absorbed for my own good. Yes, I know I just suffered a double bereavement and that I need some time to heal, etc, etc. That is no excuse to ignore the needs of my friends, even if the need is just to be acknowledged.

Unfortunately, my friends have many needs right now. I am not the only person experiencing grief. This morning I saw on a high school friend’s Spacebook page this status update: The doctor has pulled the plug on (my husband’s) chemo because his body just can't take any more! The doctor says he may only live a few more weeks to a few more months! My heart is breaking but Jesus is cradling us in the palm of His hand! Wow. Then I read that the husband of a fellow blogger collapsed and died unexpectedly yesterday. What a shock.

No, I’m not the only person grieving today. Lord, let me not act as though I am. Remind me to continue to pray something like this excerpt from a Compline prayer: Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.

Cast of Characters

2009-11-14T17:04:00.004-05:00

Five adult children in a family find it difficult to all get together at the same time. It took our father's death to bring us together for the first time in 25 years. All except Caretaker were at my wedding to Taciturn in 1998; his boss would not give him the time off. That was the last time most of us were together with our parents. Caretaker is still kind of bitter he was not allowed to attend.

Anyway, clockwise from the bottom are Youngest, age 42; Law Enforcer, age 46; Caretaker, age 49; our brother who is disabled by Parkinson's (can't figure out a nickname), age 50; and me, still 51 when the photo was taken. I don't think our mother ever recovered from having three children in three years!

Grapefruit

2009-11-13T18:55:00.004-05:00

Today's poem on The Writer's Almanac is Grapefruit. I smiled as I heard the podcast; I too remembered my grandfather ritually preparing his morning grapefruit. Fortunately for me, he would make me some also. Until I heard this poem, I had not thought about this in years.

With so many of today's cardiac medications interacting negatively with grapefruit, do any grandparents still perform this special morning rite? This grandmother does not. What particular, unconscious ritual do I perform that my grandchildren could memorialize in verse or story someday? Is there one?

Odds and Ends

2009-11-12T19:35:00.002-05:00

--Taciturn is finally in Baltimore with his mom and the Angry White Man after four days of driving. T just called; one of the things we spoke about was that AWM has a horrible virus on his PC that Norton cannot fix. Gotta love my Mac.

--In a few minutes I will drive into town for the third time today. The first time was to ship a book I sold on Amazon, the second was for lunch with my new neighbor C, and the third will be for book discussion group at another Episcopal church in town. We are reading Eugene Peterson’s The Jesus Way. Of all of the books I’ve read for church discussion groups, this is one of my least favorites. The retired priest in the group takes issue with much of Peterson’s scholarship and so that makes the discussions interesting.

--Lots of cars are driving by the house for sale next door. The price is very low for this neighborhood, but the house is older than most around here and needs updating. It cannot be considered a comparable when we set a price for our house, but having such a low priced house right next door might artificially drive down our price. We’ll see.

--Time for dinner then off to book group!

Veterans' Day, 2009

2009-11-11T19:31:00.006-05:00

Taciturn is a retired USAF officer. Most of the military activities we engage in, if we do engage with the military locally, are due to his status.

It is enough to almost make me forget that I once was a military officer myself.

I had great experiences and horrible experiences during my ten years of active duty and four years in the reserves. The military's main influence on me was to make me less parochial, to see that there was a great big world outside of the area in which I lived. I became more tolerant, more accepting. The military made me realize that cultures other than my own were no less valid.

My experiences in the military helped shape me into the woman I am today.

Above is a little Episcogranny nostalgia. This photo was taken September 15, 1988, when I was "frocked" to the rank of Navy lieutenant (frocking meant you wore your upcoming rank insignia, but got the pay of your present rank). The officer to the right was CAPT Susan McCumber, who was the chief nurse where I was stationed at the time. The other officer was the hospital commander; her name I do not recall. Hard to believe that was so long ago.

Do not be confused by the fact I am married to an Air Force man. I served in the active duty Navy for 4 years, then went to the reserves. I was recalled to active duty during the first Gulf War. I cooled my heels at Naval Hospital Charleston for a few months, then went back home. But I realized I missed the active duty military, and looked into returning to active duty in the Navy. For several reasons, I discovered that really was not the best option for me--but the Air Force looked really good. So back into the military I went, this time wearing Air Force blue. I met Taciturn at Scott AFB, IL in 1997, and we married the next year. I left active duty six weeks after we were married. We decided after visiting with many people and talking with each other about what we wanted, that for me to leave the service was the best option. My career was never going to be great due to my break in service, but his was just starting to take off. That did turn out to be the best decision for our family.

So on Veterans' Day I stand a bit taller and remember that I did indeed serve my nation.

Cat's Out of the Bag

2009-11-10T14:19:00.005-05:00

What we have held close to our breast was revealed on Sunday. A little thing like filling out a pledge card and feeling the need to explain why our 2010 pledge was slashed 70% from 2009 told the secret.

Not a huge secret, mind you, but something we only have shared with our closest friends.

We are moving away in the spring.

Over a year ago, I mentioned in this blog that we planned to move. Our target area at that time was St. Louis. But the financial crises came along, and two things happened. First, our personal assets, like everyone else’s, plummeted. Second, our target area was hit by massive foreclosures. We decided that both to move and to move to St. Louis was ill advised at that time.

Moving to St. Louis remains ill advised. After we spoke about why we were unhappy in South Dakota, we realized that to move to St. Louis, a place in which we have lived both separately and together, would set us up for the same problem we had here. That was a problem of expectation. Unconsciously we believed we could waltz right back into the lives we left when we moved away as if nothing had changed. What we discovered when we returned to South Dakota was that the context of our lives had totally changed. We had changed, both in what we wished to do for a living and our ideas about how the world was. What had made us happy and content before no longer did. The temptation to pick up where we left off in St. Louis would be similar.

Taciturn also pointed out that he had spent his entire adult life fleeing the big city; he had been raised in the Baltimore-DC corridor. Although he likes St. Louis, to live there forever does not make sense for him.

Since February we have tried to discern what to do. Asking for guidance in this decision has been a part of my daily prayers. When I was single, I made what turned out to be a very wrong move to another state based on head knowledge alone. It was a disaster; after nine months I had to move again. When I tried to determine what went wrong, I realized I had never prayed about making the move. Not once. That mistake I will not make again. If God is my Parent, I need to seek God’s wisdom in all things, including where to live now that there is a choice.

The trip to Vermont last summer was an audition of sorts. We needed to see if we could fit there, and if the area fit us. Both of us loved it, and felt embraced by those we met. T had one bad day in which we had hiked through humidity, mud and mosquitoes. He woke me in the middle of the night to say that St. Louis was not such a bad idea after all, but recanted within 48 hours. Our target area is about a half hour east of Burlington just off I-89. There is another area closer to Middlebury we wish to check out when we go on the house hunting trip.

This piece I found on a new (to me) blog about living in Vermont encouraged me in our decision. Much of what the author says we found to be true in the short time we were there.

What about the grandchildren? Yes, I'll be even further away than I am now. But it makes no sense with the downturn and the layoffs taking place at Only Son's job to move there for the grandchildren's sake. Worst case scenario--we move to MO and Only Son has to move away for a new job. Therefore, we are moving to a place where we both feel called. My son's family will have a fun place to go on vacation this way.

Our house will go on the market sometime in January. As that time draws closer, we will meet with our realtor to create a game plan. In the meantime, as much as my knee allows, I am cleaning and tossing things out.

As I typed this, someone hammered a For Sale sign into the yard of the house east of us. Lately we noticed the neighbor had done a lot of work; that was why. That should not impact our house selling plans as that house is much older than ours and is quite different in other ways. Guess moving is on someone else’s mind!

From a Birthday Card

2009-11-09T11:56:00.010-05:00

I have to share this great card I received yesterday from one of the friends who was on the home tour with me:

Like good wine,
we grow
more mellow with age.

Inside:
Or is it as we age,
we grow more mellow
with good wine?

Either way, Happy Birthday!

She added:
Good Friends
just enjoy the wine
and don't ask the question!

Loved it!

Can a House Be Too Big?

2009-11-08T21:16:00.006-05:00

Went to the annual Holiday Home tour with two church friends today. The six houses were spread out for many miles so it took us four hours to do the complete tour. Afterwards, we stopped in a home decor store then had wine and appetizers at the restaurant next door.

We have a great time. We enjoy each other's company, and we also enjoy looking at the ways people not only decorate for Christmas but how their kitchens are set up, their light fixtures, etc, so we can get ideas for our own homes.

Today, though, there was one home that almost troubled me, a three year old home custom built for a fairly young family. The home was gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but it was so large it seemed, well, gratuitous. Perhaps 5000 square feet, probably larger, it had a complete outdoor kitchen/entertaining area, tennis court and pool also. After we left, one of my friends (a physician's wife) asked what I had been wondering--"What do people do to make enough money to afford that?" Not only the house, but to fund the lifestyle that goes with it; very nice furniture and lots of it, help to clean it all, an expectation to entertain, utilities, etc.

The need for a huge house is something I've never really understood. Certainly I like a nice space: a well equipped and arranged kitchen, a nice view through the window, a warm cozy living room with a fireplace. Oh, and space for my books. If I lived alone, I'd be perfectly happy in 600 ft. Taciturn and I presently live in a larger house than I would like; I feel like a hypocrite. Whenever we move, I've told T we have to cut the square footage by at least 30%. I do not wish to be enslaved by the upkeep of a home anymore than I have to be. Then there is the question of how large a carbon footprint one wants to leave.

What is the purpose of a house, anyway? How do each of us define what purpose our house serves? Is it a statement of arrival? Is it a sanctuary away from the world or is it a place in which to invite the world? Is it simply a place to store one's stuff, as George Carlin said? Is it a place to show off? Is it the place where a person can be their truest self? Or is it a place to be phony? In deciding what kind of a house to have, I imagine questions like those at least hover in the background.

Birthday Greetings

2009-11-07T22:27:00.002-05:00

Today was spent doing nothing much more than celebrating my birthday.

In my family of origin, birthdays were as important, if not more important, than Christmas. So today my phone has rung literally off the hook, my grandchildren sang to me over Skype, and Spacebook was full of greetings.

T took me out for lunch, and we had a lovely cheese risotto for dinner. A nice, nice day.

Thanks to all!

Funerals, Part III

2009-11-06T21:27:00.004-05:00

Part I
Part II

Sleep was not to be had that night. Even Only Son, who relished the thought of an uninterrupted night’s sleep away from his children, tossed and turned. Finally at 5 am, we gave up. In search of coffee, I left the room only to run into bleary-eyed Caretaker, who paced the walk outside of our adjacent rooms smoking a cigarette. We shook our heads and laughed.

A sleepy and apprehensive family drove through rain to the funeral home after breakfast. Youngest hurried into the parlor to fetch the remainder of Mom’s ashes; he brought the cremation box to the undertaker the day before so half of her ashes could be placed in Dad’s coffin. He feared that if he delayed, he would leave without the other half. The Episcopal priest awaited us in the lobby. We discussed what kind of service Dad wanted and decided on the committal from Burial II in the Book of Common Prayer. I had shown that service to my brothers before the trip to Arkansas so there would be no recriminations. They approved.

The funeral director pulled me aside. “We have Mr. E ready for you to see,” he said. He led us to a side room where our father was laid out in his silver coffin.

We had been warned that his face was swollen and discolored. “His face will be heavily cosmetized,” the funeral director continued, “as his nose is bruised. Just so you know.”

Seeing him, though, his face was not swollen as much as it was fat. Our father had weighed around 350 lbs; to us, he appeared as he usually did. We could see the faint areas of bruising on his nose from his death fall but the makeup hid it well. The funeral home had given him a nice haircut.

For a man in his coffin, he looked great.

Instinctively I reached for his hand. It was ice. I kissed his mannequin like forehead and patted his white hair. “Love you, Daddy.” Only Son held back from the coffin, silent and wide eyed. Caretaker and Youngest spoke to the body briefly. We stayed only a few minutes. My eyes were full as I dragged out of the room.

Driving to the cemetery, I was gratified to see cars pull over as we passed, out of respect for our father. We were silent. The rain continued.

We chose not to open the coffin at the gravesite. We had no idea who might come, if anyone did. Dad had not lived in his hometown since 1962. Who would remember him?

As the time for the service approached, as sappy as it sounds, the rain quit and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. We noticed several cars parking and elderly people beginning to make their way to where we stood. Happy to see people arriving, Caretaker and I practically ran to meet them. Seven people in all came. Among them were one of Dad’s best high school friends, now a retired Arkansas Supreme Court judge; the woman who had been Dad’s date to both their junior and senior prom; and Dad’s seventh grade math teacher. We visited for a few minutes then began the service.

If you know the Episcopal prayer book, you know that the committal service is very short. It was just perfect for what my family needed, and was in accordance with Dad’s wishes. Caretaker, who knows nothing about the Episcopal Church except what he has read in the newspaper, was impressed with the priest. He thought the robes were “cool” and called him “the Episcopal priest surfer dude” due to Fr. B’s beard and demeanor. We visited with everyone a bit more, thanked them for coming. Dad’s long ago prom date was very happy to meet us and told Caretaker that she wished we could have been her children. She had just lost her own husband in April.

The time at the cemetery drew to a close as the rain returned. I kissed Dad’s coffin before we left, leaving a lipstick print as a goodbye present. We spent perhaps forty-five minutes there. We spoke about the service back at the hotel as we changed into traveling clothes and agreed that it had gone quite well. As for me, I felt much better than I had when Mom had died. Dad’s funeral had been a good and necessary experience.

A month has passed since Dad’s death. In further answer to Law Enforcer’s question mentioned in Part I, I am much stronger now than I was at this point after Mom’s demise. A good bit of that I attribute to the ability to say goodbye to Dad in a final, ritualized way. There is no doubt in my mind or heart that Dad is gone, no abstract thoughts that he could be just away. Saying farewell to Dad helped me bid so long to my mother also. The urn containing her ashes was tucked into the coffin, out of sight to the onlookers but certainly not out of mind to us children. Although her name was not mentioned, we knew she was there with him and both were going to their rest. This sense of closure relieved my troubled mind.

And awaiting Only Son and me at the end of the journey that funeral day were his children, my dear grandchildren. When they ran out to greet us with grins, squeals and hugs, I almost forgot my grief. Mom and Dad may be gone, but the family they started over half a century ago carries on.

A Short Reflection on My 52nd Year

2009-11-05T15:36:00.001-05:00

BB, a childhood friend, posted this morning on my Spacebook wall. She wished me an early happy birthday (I will be 52 on Saturday), and urged me to have fun and celebrate myself as I’ve had a “challenging” year.

Goodness. That would be true. Let’s see—the first three weeks of March saw me afflicted with shingles; the trip to Missouri to get Mom to her stent placement surgery and her follow ups, then her subsequent worsening and death; Dad’s death; the injuries to my shoulder and knee. Not to mention local and national irritations and political disappointments.

However, blessings also abound. My husband loves me; I have a great church family; my granddaughter adores me; my son cared enough about my feelings to take off work to support me through my father’s funeral; friends who would do anything for me are scattered all over. I have material blessings that I’m painfully aware others do not—at one time in my life, neither did I.

For all of these, I am truly grateful.

Yes, my 52nd year has been challenging. God did not promise us a life without pain or grief; God promised to be with us always. Therein lies my hope.

Thanks be to God.

A Break Today

2009-11-04T14:00:00.003-05:00

Let’s take a break from funerals and death today.

First, yesterday’s elections. No elections took place where I live, but I did pay attention to prominent national elections. Reflectionary and RevDrMom both express well how I feel.

Second, an unusual friend request on Spacebook—an ex of mine from whom I separated almost 15 years ago, who left me practically penniless, hugely in debt, and who stalked me for over a year after our separation, thought that now we could be “friends”. Not. I just hit “block” and went on. What an idiot!

Third, my knee. I took a lovely four mile stroll on a bright autumn day with my new neighbor early last week. That was the first real walk I had taken for a while. That night, my left knee hurt like no one’s business and when I looked, it was moderately swollen. Oops. I happened to have a doctor’s appointment the very next day, which was lucky as the pain kept me awake most of the night. A complicating factor in all of this was that a month prior, a windblown car door slammed on that knee. I was surprised that it took so long for the injury to make me lame. The doc also was puzzled and sent me to physical therapy. After my evaluation yesterday, the physical therapist said the injury was a red herring. Instead, I have tendonitis of the IT band that flared up after my stroll. The therapist said I have one of the tightest IT bands he’s ever had to work with.

Great.

That means I’ll be in PT for a few weeks. The knee remains very painful; the doctor gave me some moderately strong pain medication that really helps. I take it fairly regularly. I’m actually most comfortable when I am sitting; that may explain why I have blogged more lately.

Last week while sitting, I read That Old Cape Magic by Richard Russo. I had planned to read it after Mom died; it became almost urgent after Dad passed away. The book grabbed me from the very first and only put it down once. Recommend it highly.

Funerals, Part II

2009-11-03T17:21:00.007-05:00

Part I

The next day I hopped into the car for the day and a half trip back to Missouri, only six weeks after I had been there for Mom’s non-funeral. Caretaker told me that Dad’s body already was on its way to Arkansas and a service would be either that weekend or the following Monday. I needed to hurry.

Only Son already had agreed to drive with me to Arkansas. I needed his support; besides, he had lived with my parents during his freshman year of college, and had fond memories. Two of my brothers, Caretaker and Youngest, would drive in another car. No one else could afford the short notice plane fare or get off work long enough to make the trip. We hated that so few of us would be there. Dad deserved more.

Immediately following Mom’s death, Dad discussed his own wishes for his "mortal remains". “I’ve got it all arranged,” he said. “Everything is paid for. Call John Doe Funeral Home, and they’ll take care of everything. I don’t want a full service, but I would like some prayers said before I’m buried. And I want some of your mother’s ashes in the coffin with me.”

As I drove, I thought, “A few prayers before I'm buried...” Yikes, who would do that? Apparently reading my mind, Caretaker’s wife called my cell phone (I had my headset on just in case).

“Youngest says you are far enough along in your religious studies to say the prayers Dad wanted. Are you?” she asked.

“Well, I could do it,” I said. “But I’d rather not.” My father had died as well as theirs, after all. But just in case, I had tossed my prayer book and Bible into my bag, and knew where I could borrow an alb. I did not tell her that.

Long silence. “How much would it cost to hire a preacher?” she asked. None of my brothers had any money; just to make the trip incurred financial hardship for both Caretaker and Youngest.

“I’ll take care of finding someone,” I said. In another post, I mentioned what I did to cover the graveside service.

On arrival to my Missouri hometown, Caretaker detailed what the plans were. Meet with the funeral director on Sunday afternoon, then graveside service on Monday morning. That way we could leave Sunday morning and return Monday night. I wanted to look around a day; the area held pleasant childhood memories. But Caretaker and Only Son had to get back to their jobs so that was impossible.

The six hour drive to central Arkansas was lovely. The trees in the Ozark Mountains were transforming from summer green to autumn scarlet, just gorgeous. While admiring the scenery, I reveled in the rare alone time with Only Son. Before my mother died, we had not had time for just the two of us in nine years. It took the death of my parents for us to have the space to reconnect.

The meeting with the funeral director did not take long. Just as Dad had said, everything was arranged and paid. We gasped when the funeral director pointed out how much all of the services would cost today had Dad not made the arrangements in 1991--triple what he had paid! (Now I’m convinced that pre-need is the way to go.) Fortunately I had a favorite photo of Dad with me; the funeral director scanned it for the service leaflet. Only Son brought a long sleeved white shirt to dress the body in; my brothers brought Dad’s favorite tie and slacks. There was nothing more for us to do.

Only Son and I decided to poke around a bit, while Caretaker and Youngest drove back to the motel. We drove through the then brand new subdivision where the pre-school me had lived. Amazing, I thought, how much a place can change in almost fifty years. Amazing how much a person can, too.

The big shock came when we drove past the house that my grandfather had had especially designed and built for him and his wife in the mid 1950s. They were proud of that house and its blue fescue lawn, and worked hard to keep it all a showcase. Many times they won the local garden club’s Yard of the Month. Even in 1989 at the time of my last visit, it remained pristine.

When we drove around the corner, past the well manicured lawns of the neighbors, I asked Only Son, “Where’s the house?” Then I realized that the dump with trash stuffed to the carport ceiling and the sagging, rotted fence was the place on which Grandad once had lavished such attention. The whitewash slapped onto the once lovely cedar siding was the final insult. No other house around was in such sad shape. Surely my grandfather was spinning in his grave.

Any appetite for further sight seeing suddenly left me. We returned to the motel in silence.

Funerals, Part I

2009-11-02T18:51:00.003-05:00

(This is the first of probably three installments about the experience of my dad's funeral with its context. Thanks for humoring me.)

“I feel much better after seeing Dad in his coffin. He looked really good,” I said as I steered my car into freeway traffic.

“Why did it make you feel better to see Dad when he was dead?”

I had just picked up my brother Law Enforcer at the airport, two days after our father’s funeral. We were on the interstate heading back to the old hometown.

“After all,” he continued, “Nothing was there except a body. He was gone. Why did you have to see him in his coffin? Why drive all the way to Arkansas for his funeral? He didn’t know.”

No one had ever asked me questions like that. The importance of a funeral was something I never had questioned myself. Law Enforcer is a lawyer, though, and likes to make people think.

After a pause, I said, “Maybe it is because I’ve seen so many other peoples’ dead parents. I just needed to see my own.” The number of dead bodies I have seen in a thirty year nursing career spent in ICU, oncology and hospice number well over a hundred.

Law Enforcer nodded. “That makes sense.” Then we noticed we were on the wrong highway; I missed the exit while pondering his question. That conversation was over.

When Mom had died, Taciturn and I were unable to get there in time. The family members who were within ten minutes of the hospital had the honor of being present when she died. Family and friends who lived within an hour were able to view her body before it was removed to the crematorium. The rest of us were out of luck.

Mom had made it clear she wanted no sort of memorial. “Too much fuss,” she said, and Dad honored her wishes. But at dinner a couple of days after she died, something was off kilter. Was Mom just on vacation? That is what it felt like. Without a final, ritualized goodbye, I was not convinced that my mother really was dead. The only thing that seemed different at dinner was the glazed, sad look that passed through my father’s eyes.

“What is it, Dad?” A silly question, but I asked it anyway.

He shook his head as he returned to the present. “I miss my wife.”

We knew Dad was lonely, so my brothers and I called at least weekly. We worried that something would happen during the six hours a day he would be alone while everyone in the house was at work or school. Dad promised us he would get a cell phone to use in case he fell. Seeking another way to ensure he was well, I asked him if he would be interested in video chat on Skype. Dad was enthusiastic about the idea. I made a mental note to call Caretaker brother, who lived with him, to see if a webcam would work with Dad’s ancient computer.

But Caretaker called me first. He found Dad’s body on the floor between the wall and his bed when he arrived home early to take him for a doctor’s appointment.

Dad missed his wife so much that he could live only two months without her.

True Friends

2009-11-01T16:03:00.003-05:00

(My blog pal the RevDrMom decided to post to her blog once each day in November. Reading what she had to say about doing that, I thought, “Now why can’t I do that?” What a great way to ease back into a writing discipline. But I haven't signed up yet.)

Friendships are best measured not by quantity, but by quality. After my parents became homebound, not too many people came around anymore. But some did.

For example, Mom had a good friend, Terrie, who had been one of my childhood playmates. She had moved away but returned to the hometown as an adult. She became reacquainted with my mother at their mutual place of employment and stayed friends the rest of my mother’s life, close to twenty-five years. I always liked Terrie, although we no longer had much in common—but she was good to my mother. I told people that since I lived far away, Terrie lived into the role of daughter to Mom, and by default, also to Dad.

She truly did. Over the years, Terrie accompanied Mom on her “(prescription) drug running” trips to Mexico (another story), ran errands and cleaned for my parents, took them to doctor appointments. In return, Mom was a supportive ear when Terrie’s spouse ran off with another woman; she helped Terrie deal with her rebellious teen daughter, C. They spoke for hours on the phone when they could not visit. My mom was every bit of a mother to Terrie as she was to me.

Terrie stuck close to the end; she and her now adult daughter visited Mom almost every day she was in the hospital. C loved Mom like a grandmother. When Mom died, C was so distraught she had to be sedated. We put Terrie and C among the survivors in Mom’s obituary. They were as much family as any of us kids were. In fact, among the comments below the online obituary was a statement of comfort for Terrie. Everyone knew how close they were.

When I think of self sacrificing friendship, almost covenantal, I think of Terrie’s obvious care for Mom. Friendships like this are rare. Mom was lucky to have her.

Frustration

2009-10-31T11:12:00.001-04:00

Imagine an old time author, one who used a typewriter. Imagine that person hard at work, trying to compose an essay or an article but unable to find the right words, with crumbled sheets of paper all over the floor.

While trying to write the first essay about the time that surrounded my dad’s passing, I feel much the same. A sentence appears on the computer screen. I read it, groan, and delete. “Whiny”, I say to myself. “Too self absorbed.” Type some more. Even worse. Delete, delete.

Maybe the process of writing is more important than the potential product? Even if I can’t get something written that is fit for mass consumption, maybe I am purging myself of the angst that has beset me since Mom died in August. Yet there are insights I feel an urgent need to share. The writing must continue until I can get it right.

Also I realized maybe I should choose another subject for the first essay. Maybe it is a little too personal right now. If I switch to another of the myriad ideas I have, perhaps the right words would come more easily. Hmm.

What has hindered me in this is the injury to my knee which is so painful I must take strong pain meds. I am sure that my mind is sufficiently fogged up that words that normally come, do not. Physical therapy starts next week. Hopefully I can take less of the medication as my knee gets better. Just one more thing.

I’m really trying not to be whiny.

The New Normal

2009-10-22T16:54:00.002-04:00

“You can get back to normal life now,” Only Son told me Monday as I left his house to start the day and a half trip back to South Dakota.

But just over two weeks ago I joined the ranks of middle aged orphans. Normal life is not what it once was. To learn how to live into this new normal is the task at hand.

The trip to bury my father and then to begin to deal with the disposal of my parents’ estate was, well, interesting. A lot of events and conversations happened during these past two weeks, not all of it bloggable but all of it rich. Pondering this time as I drove, I realized that I have lots of unpacking to do—and not just clothes.

Part of me feels freer than I have in years. That itself is worthy of exploration; it is such a surprise.

Episcogranny will have a new format for a while. I usually write chronologically about events that happen in my life. As I start to unpack the myriad events of the two weeks immediately following the death of my father, I will organize posts by topics or concepts. Some titles that immediately spring to mind include Refuge, Revolution, and Charity. This series will have at least four or five different posts, perhaps more.

At least I’ll actually blog.

Tribute to My Parents

2009-10-14T10:15:00.003-04:00

Peeking at my father's obit yesterday, I ran across this wonderful essay written by a childhood friend of my Law Enforcement brother. I was already out of the house during the time period described, but I still lived close and remember how happy my parents were at this time in their lives. Parentheses and italics mine.

N and B E were like a second set of parents to a couple of us kids from the S-L clan. As children, we practically lived at their house after school, on weekends, in the summer. We remember regularly knocking on that big solid wooden door every afternoon, and every weekend morning, about as early as we figured they'd accept us. Mr. E almost invariably answered the door.

"Hey, beeb, shoot to me," he'd say, his right hand outstretched for our exaggerated, ritual handshake.

"Shake the hand that shook the hand of dear old dad, amen brother, got new glasses, M passed the test, shot a chicken, killed a hen, good ole' brother Ben." It was always the same; we must have done it a thousand times, along with the dead-fish handshake, the politicians' handshake, the lumberjack handshake.

We baked more cookies with Mrs. E than we did with our own mother, which is saying a lot, because we spent a lot of time in the kitchen with our mom. RCE was my best friend; PME was (my brother's) best friend. So we spent a lot of time over there. And the E family always welcomed us as if we were family, too.

(My brother) and I, and our brothers, wish the Es solace. N and B were a blessing in our lives and in many others'. We'll never forget them. Nor will we forget the lifelong frienships we forged during the countless hours we spent in their home and among their family. We might not see you much, but we think about you all the time.

A lovely reminder of happier times. This was, as my Caretaker brother said, "kickin'."

Trip to Bury My Father

2009-10-10T08:28:00.006-04:00

Sixteen years have passed since the last time I was in Arkansas. I went to Searcy last to see my grandfather's sister, who then was the only survivor of her family of origin. During that trip, she gave me a tour of the old Searcy of importance to my family. The Eubanks went back in that town to the 1890s. My great-grandfather at one time was superintendent of schools, my grandfather developed into a successful businessman after some youthful flailing. My father fully intended to raise his family there, just as the two generations before him.

He did not count on the meddling influence of his step-mother, who treated my father's wife (my mother) like poor white trash. Dad stood silent. Eventually, when I was five, my mother told my father that either "we move, or I move." He got the message and moved us to Hot Springs AR in 1962, then in 1966, up to Missouri where we stayed.

Tomorrow my brothers, Only Son, and I will make the seven hour drive to Searcy AR to bury our father on Monday. Unlike Mom, he opted to have some prayers said at his graveside. In that area of the country, I didn't want to take a chance with a rent-a-preacher as my family doesn't need an ambush at the committal ceremony. Thankfully, the Rev Patrick Barker of Trinity Episcopal Church in Searcy agreed to perform the Committal from the Book of Common Prayer. We will meet with him probably just before.

Back to my grandfather. We visited a lot, and I continued to visit as a young married woman with my then husband and Only Son. My step grandmother died in 1988 after a long goodbye caused by Alzheimer's. She was one of the most hateful people I have met to this day, and although her funeral was well attended, she was not mourned. She had driven so much of our family away (shades of the Angry White Man) that I had not seen my grandfather in a few years before she went into the nursing home. Grandad seemed to be liberated by her death: "I can repair my family!" So we now adult grandchildren resumed the frequent (as our jobs would allow) treks to Arkansas with our children, and the old man loved it.

In 1989 I had some time between jobs, so I spent a week with Grandad in Searcy. He was in the hospital after prostate surgery. We had lovely, sage conversation and my idea of him as one of the best men I've ever known resumed. I had to leave after a week to complete my move and start my new job. He seemed to be doing well; my great-aunt had hired a new caretaker, who seemed very sweet, and of course the great-aunt was there, so I had no problems leaving.

Grandad came home from the hospital, sat down in his favorite chair, and died. I had just gotten to my parents' house from Searcy the day before. We all had commitments and could not attend his funeral. Dad went alone to bury his father.

So tomorrow we return to Searcy to bury our father. He had not been back since his father's funeral, and had not lived there for almost fifty, yet he felt called to seek his final rest there. Family was the pull back. Family will take him home.

Two Months and Two Days

2009-10-06T19:22:00.005-04:00

Since Mom passed away. Today my brother left work early to take our dad to the doctor for his bronchitis, and found him dead on the floor. He was clutching a 2 litre bottle of Diet Pepsi, his favorite drink. The coroner said that he probably had a heart attack and died instantly. If he had to die, instantly is good.

He will be buried in Searcy, AR, his hometown, in the Eubanks family plot. Not sure when that will happen, probably Saturday. I will leave tomorrow. I'll meet Only Son and take him with me. Poor Only Son has lost three of his four grandparents in 2 months and 2 days. He is grieving big time.

Like my caretaker brother said, at least Dad isn't scared anymore. Dad had such horrible issues with mental illness. I can just imagine God stroking his head to calm him down.

But damn, I'll miss him. RIP, Daddy.

Catching up, Part II

2009-09-13T16:43:00.004-04:00

Only one post in a month and a half.

This grieving stuff is not for sissies, that is for sure. So much has gone through my mind, so many thoughts and feelings and realizations, that it seems too much to post. Perhaps it is too personal. I feel extraordinarily vulnerable. After all, if Mom could die, I can too, or Taciturn or Only Son or my grandchildren. I read an article in the NY Times yesterday about allowing children to walk alone anywhere. That put me into a crying panic thinking about my blond, lovely 7 year old granddaughter who strolls around her neighborhood at will and what would happen to her and to us if someone snatched her off the street? Normally I don't react like that to newspaper articles.

Besides being vulnerable, I feel at times blank and empty. The emptiness cries to be filled, so I'm eating with gusto. My frame remained trim for a long time after the sojourn at WW. But in just under six weeks, I've put on ten pounds! It was embarrassing to go to lunch with a friend and to be so busy stuffing my face that I could not talk with her. I was mortified but still I kept shoveling it in as if my very life depended on it. I apologized profusely for the sin of gluttony. She was great about it. Unfortunately, that scene has been repeated many time in private.

Lots of stuff. Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy; after all, almost everyone my age has lost a parent and they all can still function! I remind myself I only see what is presented to the public. When I confess in conversation what has happened, I find that those who have lost a parent are wonderful. At coffee hour today, for example, a woman burst into tears when I mentioned Mom had died; we were just talking about how we spent our summers. She told me later in the conversation that she was a wreck for a full year after her mother died, so I should be gentler with myself. After all, this is a fresh, new wound.

I appreciated that. And I appreciate that no one is telling me to have more faith in God, pray more, etc. One of my friends gave me a booklet called Good Grief that was written for Christians who are struggling with loss. On of the problems the writer discusses is the idea that Christians are to rejoice always, so it is tempting to feel guilt over feeling grief. He points out that even Jesus grieved.

Dad and I chat on the phone once a week, especially now that everyone has gone back to school/work/daycare and he is alone most of the day. He seems to be doing as well as can be expected.

Although I'm not blogging, I am doing my morning pages almost every day. Since no one sees them but me, I can pour out what needs to be. It helps. I'm also on Facebook, but I find I'm wasting lots of time there. If I've learned nothing else from Mom's death, it is that time is finite. Giving up Facebook actually occurred to me. I'm not prepared to do that, but to be there less would be good.

Recalling that it does get a bit better each day, I look forward to tomorrow.

Catching up, Part I

2009-08-18T09:13:00.002-04:00

Sorry I've not been around lately. My mother took a rapid, dramatic turn for the worse right after my last post and died on August 4. We left our vacation place in VT for my family home in MO as soon as we got the news that she was deteriorating, but we were unable to get there in time. In fact, she went so quickly it was as if she had leapt off of a cliff. The hospital called to tell the folks at home to get there pronto; they live ten minutes from the hospital and got there literally as Mom drew her last breath. Although I could not be there, I'm heartened to know that she died surrounded by family.

In accordance with Mom's wishes, my father opted to forego any memorial service or even visitation. Her body went straight from the hospital to the crematorium. Dad did not wish to purchase an urn from the funeral home as it was very expensive, so the undertaker sealed her cremains in a box for us to pick up. That was a surreal experience, let me tell you. The undertaker sat a small cubical box on the table and said, "Here she is." My brothers and I just stared. When we finally came around enough to take the box to the car, my brother put the box in his grandson's car seat. I had an irresistible urge to strap the box in.

Those ashes will be divided up. She wished for part of her ashes to be buried with my father when the time comes, and the rest to be scattered on her mother's grave in a small churchyard in east TN. Unfortunately, no one recalls the location of that small churchyard. My remaining aunt has only a vague idea; she plans to check with her children to see if they remember.

Poor Dad is devastated. Today would have been their 53rd wedding anniversary. I'll call later to check on him.

I miss Mom, but at the same time I rejoice that she now is held in God's comfortable arms. She had a great deal of emotional as well as physical pain during her life. Now that suffering is over.

As I continue to gather my thoughts, I'll post more.

Last Friday in VT

2009-07-31T14:49:00.004-04:00

I wrote another post, then reread it and decided it was not for public consumption. I'll try again!

Rainy Friday today, our last in VT. We leave next week. We've just puttered today; I did some work for my online writing class while Taciturn researched bonds online. We celebrate the new fridge that was delivered to our vacation digs yesterday. We no longer have to use an ice chest to keep items cool.

As exciting as it was to visit with my mother by phone for the first time in a month, to hear her so weak was disturbing. But she has been through a lot this past month, so she is entitled to weakness. At least she can speak.

We've enjoyed our time in the Green Mountain State, despite all of the craziness with Mom. Vermont offers so much to do and see. The genuine friendliness of its people is a lovely thing. We'll miss it after we leave.

It'll be good to get back into our own house with our own things and back to our routine, though.

Another prayer request

2009-07-24T17:21:00.003-04:00

If any of you were reading my blog two years ago, you may remember me discussing the Refugees. We were four military spouses whose husbands had been directed to live in military housing--yet there was no military housing built to house us when we first got to the base. Three of us still keep in touch via FB.

Amy just shared with everyone that her father is dying of ALS. I met him a couple of times and he was so handsome and vital a couple of years ago. How quickly our parents' health can change. As you have prayed (and continue to pray) for my mom, please slip in a prayer for her father.

"I Want to Go Home!"

2009-07-23T19:53:00.003-04:00

My mom is feeling better. The above is what she told my caretaker brother this afternoon. I'm glad she is getting tired of being in the hospital. She is into her fourth week.

Her breathing tube was removed yesterday, and she appears to be flying for the time being. She is not eating so the staff are giving her tube feedings so she can build up some strength. She is talking a bit. The staff put a courtesy phone into her room so my disabled brother, who hasn't seen her in 18 months, could speak with her. They took it right out so when I called literally five minutes later I couldn't speak to her. Later, one of the nurses told me that the courtesy phone was broken. Whatever. I made a short video of me speaking to her using iMovie on my MacBook, and emailed the link to my baby brother, who downloaded it to his laptop and will show it to her this evening.

A worrisome thing is that her white blood cell count is creeping up again. Curses. The physician asked if he should continue the antibiotics. My dad and the brothers that are at home presently said "Of course!" The understanding now is that if Mom should crash again, no more breathing tube, or chest tubes, or such. But antibiotics, I'm fine with that.

Thanks to Jonathan for including my mom in his prayer request page. My family certainly appreciates it!

One of these days I'll write about my trip to the Green Mountain State. Seems odd to write all this about Mom, and then my otherwise idyllic time here. And guess who called last night! FranIam! We've never "voiced" before. We didn't talk long but it is good to hear from someone who is affirming of me and my choices. And I know most of my friends are, even when some in my family are not.

Roller Coaster Ride

2009-07-21T06:28:00.005-04:00

For those of you who read my FB page, you know what I'm referring to in my title. My poor mom again.

I posted five days ago that she was doing well. Friday my brother left a message on my cell voice mail saying that she was continuing to improve. Before I got that message, though, on Saturday he called again with the news that Mom's left lung had collapsed and she had another infection. The option of placing her on a ventilator came up; the lung doc acknowledged that it would prolong her life but he did not think she would ever get off and breathe on her own again. However, he thought the infection was treatable. But something needed to be done as her chest organs were beginning to shift due to the pressure changes in her chest, a bad thing. My brother and I discussed this over the phone. She has clearly stated in her papers that she did not want various therapies including being on a ventilator. But, when he spoke to her about it, she was ready to do whatever it took. Therefore, the lung doc intubated her, examined her lung with a bronchoscope (finding lots of thick, sticky mucus he could not wash out), and placed her on a ventilator.

The good news is that the collapsed lung is reinflating. The bad news is that despite the aggressive treatment with antibiotics and everything else that is being done, there are xray changes in the other lung. I'm wondering if Mom isn't developing Adult Respiratory Distress Syndrome (ARDS), a horrible situation I saw often when I worked in the ICU. Anyway, today her doctors and other caregivers are going to have a care conference to figure out what to do. An option on the table is to remove the breathing tube in a day or so and just let her fly--or not. I warned my brother Saturday that yes, that was an option but that particular one is absolute Hell on a family; I've seen that done many times and it is never pretty.

My dad called me last night to ask me if I thought they had done the right thing. I told Dad they made the best decision they could at the time, and passed on the wisdom given to me by one of the deacons at my parish. She said, "Forgive yourself right now for everything you didn't do, what you did that may not have been the best, all the could haves and should haves. If you don't, you'll drive yourself crazy." Dad listened then said, "That sounds like good advice. I have to remember that." His tone of voice was thoughtful.

My caregiver brother called everyone to tell them to get home to say good bye. As for me, living as far away as I do has made me aware that everytime I say good bye to my mom, it could be the last time, and when I left 12 days ago it occurred to me I probably would not see her alive again. I called my VA based brother who is disabled by Parkinson's Disease; his wife recently lost her job so their finances are limited. He has enough money for one trip, no more. He said, "What if I am there for a week, then return home and she dies then? I won't be able to return for the funeral!" Our younger brother who lives in Washington state was supposed to fly in last night. Our baby brother lives close to the folks so he has been there often.

Almost as if directed by the Holy Spirit, my good friend in Rapid City called me out of the blue last night. We talked about lots of stuff. She was very supportive of me.

It continues to rankle me that each time I speak to my caretaker brother (when a woman has four brothers, she must specify), he ends the conversation with, "Have fun in Vermont!" Oh well. I refuse to accept the guilt trip. And I remember the deacon's wise words mentioned above.

Doing Well part II

2009-07-16T06:58:00.003-04:00

Mom came through her most recent surgery with "flying colors" as my dad said. Only needed a little adipose tissue (fat) removed as it held the infection focus. Wonderful relief, I tell you!

As I've mentioned before, Dad has some issues with mental health. At least he has been going to the hospital to visit Mom, which is a huge accomplishment. He has problems leaving his bedroom, let alone leaving the house. He takes Inderal before he goes, to help with the anxiety. One can tell when speaking to him on the phone if he is in a panic state as he speaks almost robotically. He literally sounds like a computer generated voice. When I hear that, I don't stay on the phone long--and he just can't.

Meanwhile, we have run all over central VT exploring places to hang out. We are skimming the surface in order to find places that we need to focus on. We are on our fifth full day and we are exhausted. Today will probably be a down day.

One of the highlights of my trip so far was on Monday. We were in Burlington as the Champlain festival was winding down. The Church St. area was literally a riot of people of all kinds. The atmosphere was buoyant; everyone, it seemed, had a smile on the face! And I heard an elderly man passionately reciting a poem in French. I've never heard a person speak French in person before; I'm from the Midwest! Those in the audience nodded and said, "oui, oui," as he spoke. It made me want to learn French to appreciate what this fellow said.

Off to make breakfast!

The Beat Goes On

2009-07-14T20:46:00.005-04:00

Only three full days have passed since we hit the Green Mountain State. We love our digs. Never mind the intermittent Internet, the warm refrigerator, and the elderly gas stove that requires each burner to be lit just before use; the views are spectacular and the bird songs are just the thing to get a person up and going in the morning.

But, Mom's infection is not going away. She was going to be moved out of ICU but her surgeon decided against it. Tomorrow she will go into surgery again to undergo either a surgical debridement of her worse off leg or the amputation of the remainder of that leg. Something might happen somewhere in between, of course. I talked to my brother at lunchtime on the cell phone and that is what he told me. He continues to think it is awful I'm not there with him. Of course, if I wasn't in VT I'd be at my house in the Black Hills. I would not be in MO at this point in her surgical recovery.

Her condition does give us a sense of urgency to see as much as we can as quickly as we can, just in case we don't have as much time as we had planned to see what we want to see. We are up and "at 'em" just a bit later than the sun and go until we drop. Tomorrow we head to the state capitol after we take an early am hike. And sometime tomorrow, if the intermittent Internet permits, I need to work on my creative writing class. Besides writing, we are learning to give and receive criticism. I've read my online classmates' stuff, and need to contribute my thoughts in a coherent and useful way.

And as I work and play, I will keep Mom in my prayers.

Doing Well!

2009-07-09T19:42:00.002-04:00

I went home for a day and a half to MO to see how my mother was doing after her double amputation.

In a phrase, much better than anyone, including her doctors, expected.

In fact, she will be moved out of the ICU as soon as a bed in the progressive care unit comes available. She put in her false teeth and wore her glasses yesterday.

We drove 600 miles today, and I'm tired. More later, just wanted to share.

TBTG! Thanks for the prayers. My family certainly appreciates them.

Brief and to the Point

2009-07-06T20:57:00.004-04:00

Mom was taken emergently to surgery today and both of her legs were taken off, one at the knee and one just below. I'm on my way there. Her lab results were indicative of blood poisoning related to her rotting feet, thus the sudden speed. My brother said she is headed for the intensive care unit as soon as she is discharged from post anesthesia recovery.

Continued prayers are appreciated.

And Life Continues

2009-07-04T14:02:00.003-04:00

I know only by the calendar that it is Independence Day. Things are crazy at the house of Episcogranny and Taciturn. We do not wish to be unpatriotic (we both are military veterans, after all), but Life intrudes.

T even forgot to hang our flag out today. Most unusual.

First off, Mom is in the hospital and has been since Wednesday. I spoke with my brother earlier this week which prompted my earlier post. The night previous to the day she was to have her lung tapped, though, she could not sleep due to the pain in her pre-gangrenous feet. In fact, she was screaming. My brother and his wife got her into their car and took her to the emergency room. It took lots of IV pain medication to get her to the point she did not scream. In the meantime, the doctors ran a couple of tests which made them realize that both feet are gone. On top of that, her lab tests indicated that she had had a mild heart attack.

Yee haw.

Three quarters of a litre of fluid was drained by the lung doc the next morning from her right lung. Preliminary reports are that is clear. My brother spoke to all of her doctors yesterday morning while he was awaiting some outpatient surgery for himself (!) that had been scheduled a few weeks ago. The plan for Mom at present is to get her stable medically, her pain under control, then proceed with a double amputation.

I tried to call Mom's room on Thursday. A staff member answered the phone to tell me they were working with her so she couldn't talk. I asked her to tell Mom that I loved her. I tried again yesterday am and the phone just rang. After I called Dad, I found out she was sleeping most of the time and simply was not answering the phone.

That was the first time in my life that Mom could not speak to me if I wanted to pick up the phone to call her. It occurred to me that I should get used to it.

Brother had arrived home from his outpatient surgery an hour before I called and talked to me a few minutes. He told me he had not called two of our brothers; would I do it? Sure. So last night I spoke to a brother who just moved to Washington State by the Canadian border to start a new job. He has no vacation time. He was a bit panicked. I used my best ICU nurse skills in explaining the situation to him. This am I called my other brother who lives in Richmond VA. He was glad I'd called since he was going to call later today. He deals with chronic illness himself--he has Parkinson's Disease--so he sounded calm. He also has a clear head about what the end result probably will be. He and I spoke about all of us "children" praying for each other as well as for our parents at this time. I haven't spoken to any of my brothers about prayer for years.

Needless to say this has been a tad stressful. I clean when I'm stressed, and my house looks pretty good right now. And have I been turning out the bakery goods! I have hot dog rolls in the oven right now. I will make coffee cake for in the morning. I am reassured by my brother that Mom is getting excellent care at the local hospital, which is all I ask.

And we are keeping close eyes on airfares, just in case.

And the Hits Keep Coming...

2009-06-30T17:16:00.002-04:00

Just got off the phone with my brother, who took our mom to the cardiologist yesterday. She is cleared for her amputation surgery from a cardiac standpoint--but on the CT done last week, there is a worrisome build up of fluid in her right lung. None of that in her left. She has been complaining of increasing shortness of breath. Her cardiologist was so concerned about this that he made the appointment for her to see a lung doctor himself. She goes tomorrow.

Taciturn voiced what my brother and I both were thinking when I described the CT results to him. "I bet she has lung cancer," he said. She's smoked for almost 60 years, so certainly that is possible.

Anyway, my brother will call me tomorrow after the visit to the lung doc. We continue to covet your prayers and good thoughts.

Mom is not well

2009-06-26T18:11:00.004-04:00

This Friday has me working on an offline essay about my mother.

The biggest realization I had during my trip to MO last week was that my mother will most likely die sometime this summer. She is only 73.

Everything I do, everything I think or say has that fact behind it. I bake bread; my mother is dying. I walk around the neighborhood; my mother is dying. I sit at the kitchen island pecking on my laptop; my mother is dying.

I've worked my entire professional life with the critically ill and dying. I'm no stranger to death. I have worked as a critical care nurse, an oncology nurse, a hospice nurse. I thought I knew what it would be like to face the demise of a family member.

What I'm learning is that although death is universal, the experience of it is particular. And what I thought it would be like is not at all like the reality.

The reasons I think she will die are myriad. Her kidneys were "knocked out" (Kirkepiscatoid will appreciate that term) by the dye given to her during her stent placement in April. Her vascular surgeon tried his best to keep that from happening; he absolutely flooded her with IV fluids before, during and after the procedure. But it didn't work; she is a diabetic and kidneys are fragile in diabetics. My brother had been pretty graphic in describing what I would see, and he was right. I use food metaphors to describe what she looked like as they work; her color was that of unbaked pie dough, her legs and lower abdomen were hard and puckered like orange peel, and she had large berry stains under her skin where her insulin injections were given. My brother told me that her coagulation studies were "way off", thus the berry stains. She had a stress echocardiogram earlier that indicated her pulmonary circulation was was as pliable as a brick wall. Thus the swelling; she is in congestive heart failure that is not helped by the kidney issues. But her vascular system is too fragile to even think about passing a catheter for dialysis.

In the meantime, her ischemic (no blood circulation) feet are giving her lots of pain. She cries constantly, despite the Vicodin the doc gave her. And she is exhausted. She sleeps probably three hours for every hour she is awake. She is apathetic. And she no longer can do the activities of daily living, like take a bath, most of us take for granted. She no longer walks.

My father, who has mental health issues, is going absolutely bonkers. He has been much better over the past few years but during my visit I unfortunately regained the crazy dad I had as a teen. Mom and I were chatting and suddenly Dad yelled, "Don't make fun of me!" We weren't speaking of him or anything related to him at all. A few minutes later, we heard, "What's going on in there?!" "Nothing," Mom replied. "We are just talking about vacuum cleaners" (which we were). Later that evening, Dad begged my brother not to put him into a "home."

It is difficult to live regular life with all this in the background. My brother, who needs some surgery, went ahead and scheduled it as he can't predict what will happen with Mom, or when. None of us have crystal balls. Taciturn and I have planned a vacation to Vermont since February; we decided, unless Mom really crashes, that we will go ahead. After all, although she is dying, her process is not acute. If we have to return all of a sudden, we will.

No matter what any of us do, my mom is dying.

Even More to Say

2009-06-23T20:03:00.003-04:00

But I'm tired after driving across South Dakota through hailstorms and tornadic winds. Sunny in Rapid City, though.

Let's just say that Granddaughter's recital was exhilarating, while I was disheartened and depressed after visiting my parents. Mom has deteriorated significantly in six weeks.

My writing class is on and there are two of us enrolled! Starts day after tomorrow. I suppose I will get extra special attention!

So Much to Say

2009-06-17T22:10:00.004-04:00

But it is bedtime. After driving 450 miles today, I'm staying in a small midwestern city a bit further than halfway between my Black Hills home and the home of my parents in Missouri. An hour to the north and east from there resides Only Son and his family.

So glad I already had picked this time out to go home. I spoke with my parents on Monday and found out that my mother is in such congestive heart failure that her feet are oozing, especially out of the diabetic sores that are there (sorry, you non medical types). She has a stress echocardiogram lined up but not for another week and a half, and what they will do with her and when is kinda dependent, I guess, on that test.

Her doc, meanwhile, put her on a new diuretic. We'll see how that works.

I hate to call her during baseball season without checking the schedule of the St. Louis Cardinals; she is a rabid lifelong fan. She will not talk on the phone or do anything else if a game is on TV or radio. I mentioned during our phone conversation that I was glad I did not interrupt a game. She kind of chuckled and said, "Oh Honey, I've been too tired to watch baseball. All I do is sleep and hurt."

Too tired to watch baseball. Never have I heard anything like that out of her mouth.

I tried to get Taciturn to go with me this trip as I wonder if this will be one of the last times we will see her. He said he would come down if I thought he should--after I see her with my own eyes. My entire family of origin excels at creating a more dramatic situation in the telling than actually exists. (I almost ran home a couple of years ago when my brother called with ominous warnings about Mom's imminent demise; I called her myself and she told me she felt fine. Why would I think she was so sick? She was in the hospital as a precaution but only stayed a couple of days.) Anyway, T knows that tendency in my family so he is hanging back.

Besides, he really doesn't want to have to go watch little girls dance in a ballet recital. He went last year and does not wish to sit through that again!

And tomorrow I will see with my own eyes. I'm a bit apprehensive. I'll keep you posted, and I continue to covet your prayers.

Reason I'm Headed Home

2009-06-14T22:20:00.003-04:00

When I may have to turn right around and go back for Mom's surgery.

I just can't miss Granddaughter's recital! She is the one in the middle; this was taken this past week at her dress rehearsal.

Asthma attack and cold weather

2009-06-11T18:59:00.002-04:00

I rolled out of bed at 2 am, coughing and hacking, feeling as if my throat had collapsed upon itself. I coughed for an hour before it occurred to me, a person with well controlled asthma, that I might be having an attack. I have maybe one or two a year so each, as it occurs, is as if I've never had one before. I grabbed the rescue inhaler that I had to hunt for as I seldom need it and by golly, the coughing stopped.

Needless to say, Taciturn and I were up for good by then. I had the coffee brewing at 3:45 and my morning pages written by 4:45. I ate a bagel with jelly at 5.

We had all kinds of grand plans for today that the two of us were too tired to pursue. I did write a bit on an essay I'm toying with producing (although the point I want to make may be more suited to a short story), but every time I worked beyond twenty minutes, my poor eyes crossed. They tend to do that when I am the least bit tired due to the myasthenia gravis my neurologist thinks I have and for which I take medication, but boy, was it bad today. So I gave it up and did things that did not require long visual concentration.

In the meantime, it poured all day. The rain stopped only an hour ago. The high today was 55, so I wear a hoodie sweatshirt as I type. This late spring reminds me of the summer of 1992 when I lived in Minneapolis, during which the temperature rose above 70 maybe 4 times the entire summer. I have an unofficial Episcogranny holiday each July 1, as in 1992 I went to my car saying, "It's the first of July, and by God I will wear shorts and tee shirt!" It was too cold, though, to do that, so sheepishly I returned to my apartment to change into more temperature appropriate clothes--long sleeved shirt and jeans. I hope it isn't that way this year here in the Black Hills.

I did NOT start my online creative writing class today. Due to low enrollment, the beginning was postponed until June 25. If no one else signs up, there is another class that starts in late July. After looking at the bios of the different teachers, I think the later teacher would be more suitable for me, so I perversely hope that my class is cancelled so I can take it with her. I'm fine either way, though.

Hope all is well with you!

Trip Next Week

2009-06-10T10:11:00.004-04:00

After spending an hour writing my first post this am, I was so disgusted by its whiny tone that I deleted it. Here is another try.

Granddaughter is dancing in a ballet recital next week. Also, Mom has two doctor appointments, one to her cardiologist and another to her vascular surgeon, at which time her amputation will be scheduled. And then, there is Father's Day.

Sounds like a good time to go home for a visit, you think? I leave Wednesday. When I return depends on when Mom's surgery will be. If it is sooner, I'll just stay for it. If it is later, I'll return to SD then go back home for the surgery.

We leave for our long planned trip to New England the first part of July. If Mom's surgery is later, I may have to travel from MO and meet up with Taciturn along the route. I'll stay fluid.

The online writing class for which I signed up is going "live" tomorrow. I've already read the assigned text for the first session and need to get the actual assigned writing completed prior to my trip. Later today, Taciturn and I are going to hit a couple of stores to look at small desks for my new office space in the basement, a place I can go to and close the door to distractions in order to work. I bought a candle last week for that space. When I lived in DC, I had a candle to define times to work, and that served me well. Time to revive that practice, and set aside my creative time as holy time.

Here is my prayer for today, which is the prayer for the week from Praying the Hours on Explore Faith: O God, from whom all good proceeds: Grant that by your inspiration I may think those things that are right, and by your merciful guiding may do them; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen.

My emphasis is to "think those things that are right".

You can have my temper

2009-06-08T19:20:00.003-04:00

As I have been in a very foul mood for several days, I am not blogging. Only Son's Bride has a new piece on her online gallery every few days, so I will link to it. Much more innocent and pleasant. I'll show her scrapbooking piece here in case you just want to see it vs going to her gallery.

Visit and Uncertainty

2009-06-02T08:21:00.004-04:00

My maternal aunt and her husband were in the Black Hills for a wedding at Custer State Game Lodge this past weekend. They had been thinking they would visit Taciturn and me at our house up the canyon since 2002 when we first bought this place, and seized upon this wedding as the chance to see us. The young woman getting married is very involved in their church in a south MN town.

I had never known this aunt and uncle well. She and my mother never have gotten along well, partially due to my mom's perception that Aunt L conducted herself as a bossy big sister but more importantly they are fundamentally different people. Aunt L was always a striver, one who was not a blamer but if things did not go her way, she just found another way to accomplish what she wished. My mom would just quit trying, and blame others for her woes. My mother has been rebellious all of her life and this aunt never was. This aunt and uncle are very involved in a mainline Protestant church and as readers of this blog know, my mother won't even be caught dead in a church--she wants her funeral out of a funeral home. On and on. We never visited them, and they came to our house probably four times. I not only did not know my aunt and uncle, I did not know my cousins at all.

But, they attended T's and my wedding in 1998 for which they had to drive several hundred miles. I appreciated the effort that took, as well as the poem Aunt L wrote on the card that went with the gift. They obviously went to some trouble and care to find the perfect poem. I remember being disappointed that my own mother could not be bothered to do the two things I had asked her to do for that wedding, and here my barely known aunt went to all that effort for me.

After this weekend, I wish we had started visiting seven years ago! We had a wonderful visit. They are in their late 70's, but travel all over the US, work as caterers, and Uncle is a writer. His training was as a journalist and he worked in publishing for years. In fact, he belongs to a group called the Wordos which seeks to enhance written communication by presenting the rules of grammar. They were intensely interesting and we conversed far into the night both nights they were here.

Uncle never had been to Mt Rushmore so we drove down Friday afternoon. He was stunned by its majesty. He said over and over that seeing it in photos over the years had been nice, but did not compare to actually standing at its base and viewing it.

We took Uncle to Rushmore just in time. So vigorous during this visit, he just was diagnosed with a cancer that will kill him probably within the year. Aunt L also has been treated for breast cancer. These two are not like my parents who dwell on their problems and focus on what they can't do. Aunt L and Uncle wish to live while they are alive. These two have been through the worst parents can go through, the death of a child (one of my cousins died six years ago), now these cancers, and they are pragmatic about it.

They plan to visit my parents in a couple of weeks. Since Aunt L and my mother are the only ones left of five sisters, Aunt L plans to continue to see Mom while she can as it is the right thing to do. I do not get the impression that she enjoys those visits, which I understand and is an entirely different post! Aunt L was not surprised to hear of Mom's condition at all. She was sad, but not surprised.

In the meantime, I still have no idea of when Mom's amputation will be. Granddaughter's ballet recital, which I never miss, will be on June 20th. I'm sure the surgery will take place before then so I'll head to MO next week or the following week. My brother said he will try to get some answers this week. I'll keep my aunt posted.

So Silent...

2009-05-28T20:38:00.004-04:00

Things are changing. My mom is going to have her foot amputated due to her horrible peripheral artery disease. I haven't any idea when, but soon.

I'm 51, and childhood is over. I have a yucky feeling that the rest of Mom's life will be packed in not so long of a time.

One of my brothers is very honest about his feelings. He said he didn't want to hear anything about this upcoming procedure, as these things "don't happen to my mother."

As pragmatic as the rest of my sibs and I are about this, I remain surprised that I cry at the least little thing these days. Go figure.

Mom's last sister and her husband are coming for a visit tomorrow. They don't know about this, so it will be up to me (with Mom's blessing) to let them know. Since their mom had her leg amputated due to diabetes, this is nothing new. Still a very sad thing.

BTW, the CT scan I mentioned in my last post was boringly normal--thanks be to God! Time to concentrate on Mom. We certainly appreciate prayers.

Continuing The Artist's Way

2009-05-20T12:51:00.002-04:00

I started Week 4 today after a month off due to travel, not feeling well, etc. I never abandoned the morning pages; in fact, I just finished up a composition book full of them yesterday.

This is the Reading Deprivation Week. Ruth talked about that; many people apparently use reading to numb out a bit. I've met people who do. This is a bit of a conundrum for me, though, as I've just resumed reading for pleasure. Every time I go back to school, which seems to happen every ten years, I get so sick of reading (because it is required) that I don't do it again for a couple of years. The activities Cameron suggests you do instead of reading, such as working out, rearranging the kitchen, etc, is what I have been doing for years instead of reading!

Can this reading restriction be retroactive?

I read Stephen King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft over the last two days. I borrowed it from the library; this am I bought my own copy as it was full of gems. One of those gems totally flies in the face of what Julia Cameron says: "If you don't have time to read, you don't have time to write." He posits that to learn how to write, you must read. Of course others say that as well.

Needless to say I am going crazy.

Cameron also suggests baking. I'm still baking bread at least once a week, sometimes twice. In fact, while typing this a new shipment of baking goodies from King Arthur Flour arrived. So tomorrow morning I'll do some baking before I run errands.

Errands tomorrow include a CT scan. I had an xray and a bunch of labs last week due to my under the weather condition; the labs were great, the xray was inconclusive. I have some lumps along my left lower rib that seem attached to it and are getting bigger, so my doc wants to check those out. When I lay on my left side a certain way, it feels as if I'm laying on marbles. They didn't show up on the xray, so thus the CT.

Off now to attend a lecture by Linda Hasselstrom at the public library. The library also will provide lunch. All of this is paid for by a grant so I get a free lunch and a great lecture!

Changing

2009-05-18T07:15:00.005-04:00

Monday morning and up comes my head for a bit of blogging. My energy has been directed elsewhere--like my morning pages. I've been kinda under the weather for a week--no get up and go, just blah--so what energy I do have has been parceled out carefully. I've been on Facebook much more than here, and even tweeting a bit.

Julia Cameron says in The Artist's Way that your truth will reveal itself in your morning pages. Mine is coming out loud and clear. So I'm experimenting with changing a few things that really are not bloggable, but that I seem to write about each and every day in the morning pages! These are good things, I think. But if nothing else, a huge change in my daily routine.

I got up early this am for no reason except that I couldn't sleep past 0230. I had my coffee, wrote, ate some of my homemade bread toasted with a bit of jam, and listened to the birds sing at dawn. I felt like I was on vacation, strangely blissful. I even saw one of the Dippers (Big, Little? Not sure) in the western sky. Easy to say one's prayers on mornings like this.

During the last week I read a book with the improbable title Crazy Woman Creek. It is an anthology of women's stories about community--how to find it in different circumstances, when it works, when it doesn't. The anthologies came from women who live in the West, although one of the stories was penned by a woman living in the very midwestern town of Warrensburg, MO, where I went to college. Two of the editors were involved in a discussion of the work at our local library. Although all 17 copies of the book were checked out, which forced me to buy it to get it read, only three women showed up. We already knew each other from DIA, which was interesting! This book was compelling, very difficult to put down and wonderful to discuss (glad I bought it!). Linda Hasselstrom, one of the editors, is hosting a lunchtime lecture on Wednesday which I will attend.

I cancelled the composition class I had signed up to take online--but that was done in order to take another class which is longer, more comprehensive, and more valuable I think for what I need. That won't start until June 11th. In the meantime, I checked Stephen King's On Writing out of the library and will begin to read that today.

Time to take a walk while it still is cool. The temperature is supposed to reach a high of 88 today!

More on SD's new bishop elect

2009-05-12T19:42:00.004-04:00

My sleep has been screwed up since this weekend. I took notes during the Democracy In Action meeting today and that was all the work I was fit to do, besides my morning pages, that is. Tomorrow I'll edit the notes for DIA as I'm so tired now that my eyes are crossed!

So, I will link to the blog authored by my church buddy, CP. He has a nice post about our new bishop elect, including some stuff that surprised me in the context of remarks he made in the Q&A session I attended. Like I've said, Bishop-elect Tarrant will be a fine bishop. Thanks be to God!

Done electing a bishop

2009-05-09T18:30:00.004-04:00

And I cannot tell you how exhausted I am. Our diocese is large in a physical sense and I drove 400 miles round trip in a 26 hour period to go cast two ballots. There are many who drove much more than I did.

I'm okay with the bishop elect. He was not my first choice, nor my second. But as I stated in my last post, he was strong on paper and he should be a fine bishop.

My best friend in high school, an experienced priest, is looking for a new cure and I just emailed her to tell her of the opening created by this episcopal election!

I am too tired to write much more. I trust the Holy Spirit's workings in all of this.

Electing a bishop

2009-05-08T09:15:00.009-04:00

Last Friday evening I sat in a crowded parish hall and listened to Q&A with the four candidates for the 10th bishop of South Dakota. I'm a lay delegate to the electing convention which will be held in Pierre, SD tomorrow, so it particularly was important for me to be there and to listen intently. I took copious notes. The diocese provided me and the other delegates with detailed information about the candidates prior to the presentation, which I read carefully and asked Taciturn to read as well. It was interesting how different a couple of them were very different in person than on paper. I had rank ordered the candidates based not only on what I read on the bios but from what I could get from Googling them. In person, one was much more eloquent than on paper--very well spoken and quick on his feet. One who was excellent on paper had one heck of a time getting his words out unless he was passionate about something. That one had been my #1 choice until I heard him speak as well as some of his answers to the questions put to the entire group; he dropped to #3.

Having said that, I think that three of these candidates would serve the diocese well as bishop--as well as represent our diocese well in the House of Bishops. One I truly think is all sizzle and no steak (very superficial both on paper and in person), and is looking for a nice place to serve out the remaining years until he retires. I know I'm not the only one who thinks that about this particular candidate; one retired priest mentioned that this candidate is in "over his head."

I will not say in this public space whom I support. I'll write about that afterward. I've engaged in several conversations with interested people in my church and people who know me know where I stand as well as why. Please pray that I continue to be open to the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

If you are interested, two Q&A sessions are on YouTube. Search bishop walkabout and you will get links. Since they both were three hours in length, I can't really link to one video.

My neighbor, also a lay delegate, and I will leave for Pierre in a few hours. Please pray for us and our diocese as we engage in this process. Pray that we truly discern the will of God and listen to the wisdom and guidance provided by the Holy Spirit as we elect the next bishop of this diocese.

Artist's Date

2009-05-05T22:24:00.004-04:00

When following The Artist's Way, one is supposed to take one's inner artist on a date each week to refill the creative well. One who constantly creates without replenishing one's self will reach a point where creativity is impossible.

This past week has been wild, so I had no artist's date per se this past week. I'll post later about my week, but I discovered while visiting in Missouri that Only Son's Bride, a graphic artist, has been doing artist's dates herself. I peeked at her blog and found some stunning photos she took while on her version of the artist's date, which had a theme of "ugly/beautiful". Please take a peek; you will find your creative well refilled after the look see.

Self Employed

2009-04-30T13:19:00.005-04:00

With financial returns not guaranteed or even sought at present.

That is my new reality. I told my boss in a phone conversation this am that I plan to resign today.

I attempted to resign yesterday. I went into her office, paperwork in hand, but she was away and I chose not to wait.

On the day prior to my departure to Missouri, she called me to ask me to work the next day. Since I was leaving for Missouri, I could not. I did not tell her then that I was dressed and ready to travel to her office to resign that day. After I hung up, I thought that perhaps it would be rather cold to resign when she just had begged me to come in.

But this morning I told my boss I had found other work to do. Absolutely that is so. I was up at five o'clock scribbling the morning pages.

Headed out now to hand in the resignation and pick up the book by Raymond Carver I reserved yesterday, among other things that must be done.

So Behind!

2009-04-29T19:28:00.003-04:00

I have over 300 posts to read in my Google reader. It is a safe bet I will not get to all of them. When I was in MO with my family, I was in MO with my family and not online. Much, anyway. I was on Facebook more than here as FB is shorter and more to the point.

Today I read short stories and wrote my morning pages. I tried to write the ones for yesterday while I was waiting at the MD's office for my every six month checkup, but I had to fend off a woman who said she wanted to see the beauty of my handwriting and then grilled me on my journaling practices. I was so happy when I was called for my appointment!

I missed my last writing class last night as I simply was too tired to go. I was in bed before it would have been over. I emailed the program director to let her know that I would not be there; she said she would forward the email to the instructor (who had failed to give us her contact info) and I've not heard from her. The fee for the class was very small and I think in this case one got what one paid for.

But, after speaking with Taciturn, I have signed up for another class via the Writers' Digest. This one is just to help me firm up my composition abilities. I am skipping the grammar class as I really don't think I need it (I CLEPed out of freshman English over 30 years ago and I know good websites that help in that area).

I ordered a compilation of stories by Raymond Carver this afternoon. Of all short story writers, he is the one I've read who addresses the people with whom I grew up. I've loved his work since I learned of it, shortly before he died over 20 years ago. I read an essay this afternoon by someone who was too drunk to attend a party at which Carver was in attendance and has beat himself over the head since. I'm fortunate in that I feel as though I've met him. An ex of mine wrote almost as well as Carver but was too lazy to do what needed to be done to get that work recognized and published. Again, he is himself a character in a Carver story. This person now sells Ranger boats. He is capable of so much more.

I baked bread this am and now am cooking up some chicken in a ginger sauce to eat with basmati rice and salad. I haven't cooked in two weeks so this is fun!

Back in the Abode

2009-04-28T20:15:00.003-04:00

That I share with Taciturn.

I'm a day later than I had planned due to some wicked weather that was on my route on Sunday. I drove to an eastern suburb of Kansas City where my youngest brother PME lives. We went to Carrabba's for calamari and other yummies and ran some errands. I used a reward night from my frequent hotel user program to save some cash. I did a bit over half of the rest of the trip yesterday and the rest today.

However, sleep was not to be had last night. I woke up at two am central time and never went back to sleep. You understand I was not anxious to drive 350 miles after no sleep, but in order to get back to the abode that is what I had to do. With the help of St. Caffeine, I made it just fine.

I'm really, really tired though. That wasn't helped by walking into a house that has been lived in only by a man who will not clean for two weeks. I've been scrubbing sinks and countertops, washing, etc since I've been home. But, all told, it is good to be back with T again.

And now, the dryer beckons.

Benefits of Mom's Vascular Procedure

2009-04-23T16:32:00.003-04:00

Now that some circulation has been restored to her leg through the placement of a stent into a blocked illiac artery, Mom really feels much better.

So much better, she is able to walk to the chair on the front porch and smoke one cigarette right after another. Before the procedure, her feet were too painful for walking.

She has been told that people with her level of vascular disease should not smoke due to the constrictive action of the nicotine on
blood vessels, but she says, "I don't inhale!" So she keeps on.

(See Lauralew tearing out her hair.)

I've been very busy visiting with my Missouri family so I've not been online much at all. However, I am keeping up with the discipline of writing morning pages. There were a few free hours two days ago so that time was spent working on a short story and some poetry for an intro to creative writing type class I'm taking.

Sunday I leave for the 1.5 day drive back to my house and hopefully I can catch up with everyone's blogs as well as my own then.

Snow and Travel

2009-04-15T08:15:00.002-04:00

The snow is almost, about, nearly gone. In the hollows and in shaded places it continues to stick stubbornly but in most places it is vanished.

Spring? Maybe!

Meanwhile, I scribble like crazy. Also, I prepare to go to MO for a visit. I'd planned to go anyway but my mother needs circulation restored to her diabetic foot in an attempt to save it from amputation so I will take her in for that procedure in 48 hours. My brother who lives with her has run out of vacation time due to his own accident at Christmastime, so they are very happy I can take her.

I'll leave in a couple of hours. There is lots to post about but it seems to all go into my journal versus here. I will stay in Sioux City IA this evening and get to my hometown of Sedalia MO by around 3 in the afternoon tomorrow. My brother will cook up some fish for dinner tomorrow night.

I liken Mom's situation to what would happen if one never did oil changes on one's car--it falls apart, as does the human body if it is neglected. One ignores diabetes at one's great peril.

My family covets your prayers.

Snow and Writing

2009-04-08T12:29:00.005-04:00

Yes, Jan and others, the snow is melting. I'm glad because snow becomes so gray and dirty after sitting around for a few days and taking on the car exhaust. The streets were utterly clear yesterday. Our driveway still is rather crowded with snow but one car at a time can snake through the walls of snow on either side.

Tomorrow we expect 3-5 more inches.

Meanwhile I've been writing a lot. The Artist's Way has helped me to open the door that has been closed for so long. Since I started the morning pages I've written approximately 80 pages. I've also had poems and essays come to me. What I am finding is that when I hear the voices in my head that I used to ruminate on then dismiss, I'm writing down the words I hear. This is exhilarating and a bit scary. That's ok.

My best friend in high school, an Episcopal priest in the southeast US, called me yesterday. We haven't talked for close to three years for various reasons--like losing each other's phone numbers during our frequent moves (we both move approximately every three years). She was stunned to learn that I haven't written, really written, in over thirty years. The young woman she knew so well always had paper in her purse or somewhere on her person to scribble thoughts, events, quick poems. That young woman turned out stories and poems by the dozen and reached for a pen instead of something else whenever something horrible or wonderful happened. My friend just assumed that I had kept that up. She said, "That is who you are!"

You know, I've quit denying that she is correct. I made the mistake years ago of devoting myself totally to work instead of allowing myself to continue to make art. I confused making a living with making a life. I never considered that one could do both. That was easy to do in the blue collar town in which I was raised; art was for those "better than we are." I put aside the pen and paper and got to what was known as real work. I've been a person consumed with "if only" and "what if" ever since. What a waste of energy and of gift.

I am going to make some changes. It is not too late to devote myself to the gift God gave me before I was born. A month ago, I was content to grouse about work and my life but do nothing to rectify it. My goal is to "live divided no more" as Parker Palmer says. I am so grateful to the One who created me and all else for allowing this opportunity and for giving me the gift of my life.

All I needed to do was seize it.

Palm Sunday

2009-04-05T20:27:00.015-04:00

was spent at the Church of the Kitchen Table with Morning Prayer led by Deacon MacBook. With over a foot of new snow on the ground with pretty stout drifts and an unplowed road, worship at my usual place was out of the question. The 8 am service was cancelled last evening, and around 23 or so showed up for the 10 am Eucharist.

A bit of a twist was added to the drama--our rector was out of town with her youngest son doing college visits, and my former rector was scheduled to be the supply priest. However, he flipped his tractor clearing Monday's snow and broke his arm. He still managed to get to church today to preside at the 10 am Eucharist. One of the two deacons got there as well.

Taciturn spent over 3.5 hours digging out our driveway. The county snowplow did not come until 2 this afternoon.
Try to get into my front door!

No Container Gardening Class Today

2009-04-04T12:26:00.007-04:00

Due to this.

These are some of my neighbors trying to get an early start on clearing the foot of snow we are predicted to get today.

Hopefully we will be able to snake down the canyon into town for Palm Sunday service tomorrow am. I am acolyting and T is reading the part of Judas in the Passion narrative. But we've noticed that the county is not as prompt in clearing roads on weekends as they are during the week. We'll see.

Many blogs are discussing the tragedy in Binghamton NY yesterday. I add my prayers to the growing chorus.

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Wednesday, after another blizzard and before the next

2009-04-01T18:21:00.003-04:00

Can you tell I am tired of continuous snow?

Monday into Tuesday we got at least a foot of snow at our house. The back deck was impressive with the snow piled up 1.5 feet and drifting up past the window sills. Taciturn dug out the driveway, the front porch and to the back door on the deck for a total of three hours yesterday afternoon.

Another storm is headed our way on Friday. My much anticipated Container Gardening class (only way I can garden; I live on an acre lot but it is on an 8% grade with herds of deer tramping through almost continuously) was scheduled for this Saturday. It has been postponed until May 2nd. Grumble.

Saturday T and I went to the Black Hills Builders Home Show. In the past, we've always enjoyed this show but this year it was like, "Ok, let's go simply because we go every year." We ran into every person we never wanted to run into again. Especially I ran into a former friend and her husband.

This is one of two people who are officially "former friends." The other one joined a Willow Creek based church and became viciously anti-everything; I called her on it and she said we could no longer be friends, and oh btw I must not be a Christian. I'm just glad she isn't God. The woman I saw Saturday is the only friend I have ever felt like I was divorcing. It happened when the blinders came off and I saw that she just needed someone to boss around and I was that person. We really had little in common. I realized those two things when she and her husband, temporarily homeless through circumstance, came to stay with me when T was stationed in Korea. Oh, btw, her husband had at one time been T's boss.

Suddenly they were my parents and I was the teenaged daughter. They didn't like how my furniture was arranged so they re-did it. They would watch my only TV and invite me to watch it with them. They screened my phone calls. They terrorized my elderly cat. They portioned out my food as they thought I ate too much (I lost a good bit of weight while they were with me, and they said it was due to them teaching me how to eat properly). And she criticized my going to church. I was too educated to believe in air.

There were other things too. After three months (one of which I was in Korea with T), I came home from an errand to find some more stuff rearranged. I said that I preferred it the regular way. My friend drew herself to her full height and asked, "May I ask why?"

"Because this is my house and that is how I like it," I snapped.

She jerked back as if I'd slapped her. "Well!" she said. I heard her a couple of days later on the phone telling someone that she was still awaiting her apology.

My thought was that if she wanted me to apologize for wanting things my way in my house, she would be waiting a very, very long time.

They moved out into the house of another friend that weekend.

And that was that. And that was four years ago.

You must understand that I loved this friend so much that I was unsure that I had done the right thing. I even went to my priest to talk to him about it. He had heard me complain about her for months; he was astonished that I needed to ask! I don't remember exactly what he said but it was on the order of "What took you so long?"

I was incredibly angry and told everyone I knew all that she had done to me. Sounds like what people do when they are divorcing, doesn't it? I regret that I had spread the news, so to speak. But I did. Then we moved away to Washington DC.

Fast forward to Saturday. The guys, who had been friends themselves (I thought), were chatting like crazy (my biggest regret of all of this was that the guys had to side with their wives). As she and I chatted, I mentioned in the course of something else I wanted to tell her that I had been to seminary for a year--her smile turned brittle and she cut me off. The goal of what I was saying was not to brag about being to seminary but to tell her about a serendipitous thing involving one of my seminary pals. But she heard "seminary" and that was all, for her.

The guys exchanged phone numbers. But I bet we don't hear from them. T said later that he never thought of my friend's husband as his friend; he was his boss, nothing more. So they won't hear from us, either.

Sometimes things really suck, don't they?

Saturday, Before Another Blizzard

2009-03-28T11:20:00.006-04:00

We have another blizzard on the way. It isn't a huge problem for Taciturn and me, but please pray for our brothers and sisters in North Dakota who frantically attempt to stave off the fury of Mother Nature's flooding. They are supposed to get some snow as well.

I went back to work Wednesday afternoon. It wasn't really busy but I had a nursing student with me so I had to teach as I worked. I was able to leave on time and get to bed at a reasonable hour for the evening shift--0030 Thursday morning. Yet, it has taken me two days to recover from eight hours of work. You can tell I have not worked or done much else for a while.

The discipline I'm attempting to develop of writing first thing in the am remains. I had to get up earlier than I would have liked Thursday morning in order to see my neurologist for the myasthenia gravis like symptoms I have, but I did take the time to do my morning pages. Life is getting into a rhythm; get up, get a cup of coffee, go back up to my bedroom to sit in the rocker and write, then I pray. After that it is time for breakfast and all else. I like this rhythm. I usually wake up with my head full of things to write so that is why I write first before I pray, so I won't lose it. Sometimes I cannot write fast enough!

A huge insight came to me Thursday morning while I wrote about the resentment some of the undereducated women at work have toward those of us who were able to and did the hard work of earning a degree (that came from writing about the nursing student--she has a really hard life but she still pursues a degree). Then I realized that I am guilty of the same thing in another discipline. Interesting how things can get worked out, or you see things as you write that never would have entered your head otherwise. As I sit and type now, I am smiling and shaking my head. Once I gave myself permission to write, all kinds of stuff is pouring out in torrents.

Ruth has an interesting post today about how we as adults no longer feel we can do the creative things we did as children. Those things come under the heading of "Time Wasters." It is fascinating to read the unfolding of her process as she journeys with The Artist's Way. I'm almost as excited about her journey as the one that I'm starting to undertake. I bought my own copy of The Artist's Way and will start it tomorrow.

The leftover main patch of blisters from my shingles has developed into impetigo from my scratching. Taciturn warned me about scratching those while he rubbed Bactriban cream on them after my shower this am. They are just right of center on my upper back; while I can reach them to scratch, I can't reach them to rub lotion or cream on them!

We are going to go to a home show a bit later this am, have a bit of lunch then stock up at the grocery store. We haven't been on a full grocery trip for 3 weeks, and the larder is getting bare! I have pizza dough rising at present for Saturday night pizza. I made my own sauce a couple of weeks ago and I'll get it out of the freezer to thaw shortly.

Tomorrow afternoon that blizzard is supposed to roll in. I'm sure I'll have another episode of blizzard baking. That's ok. Life is getting pretty good right now. And the scent of fresh bread baking makes it even better!

Blizzard Baking

2009-03-24T13:14:00.005-04:00

Although it doesn't look much like a blizzard now--the sun is bright, I hear a steady drip drip from beginning snow melt, and the wind is calmer. The wind never is calm in the Black Hills, but 20 mph is amazingly different than 60-70 mph.

The errands I had planned yesterday pre-blizzard were canceled by the sleet and wind that preceded the blizzard. Those await me tomorrow. I read that the snowdrifts in town are pretty high in some places and travel remains highly discouraged for today.

I'm baking bread. I suppose I could run the vacuum but I don't want to. I have been looking forward to baking bread today since I heard the storm was coming. I have oatmeal bread rising at present as well as some dough for breadsticks to go with the soup I have planned for dinner this evening.

One of the most satisfying things I can do is bake bread. I love the way the dough feels on my hands, I love the scent of yeast blooming, I love the alchemical ritual of ensuring the ingredients are the right temperature and amount and mixed in the right order, of forgetting whatever ails me in order to strive for the most wonderful loaf or roll or pizza dough, whatever, that I can make. For me, this is art. And the cool thing is, you can eat it!

Not surprisingly I always thought if I engaged in a visual art, that art would be pottery. But right now, yeast dough is my clay.

I am a unabashed devotee of King Arthur flour. Their flours just work better than the normal stuff. I was very happy when their products began to be offered in our local groceries during this last year as that really cut the cost of having bags of flour shipped from Vermont to South Dakota. Their website offers quality products other than flour; everything I make with the baking powder I get there rises much higher than anything I've seen before, from baking powder biscuits to pancakes. Better ingredients make better products, and if I'm going to engage in the art as well of science of bakery, I want the results to be worth it.

Now, if I only had a place for a garden and a goat (basil and goat cheese for pizza!)... The container gardening class is April 4th.

Tone Deaf

2009-03-23T14:29:00.004-04:00

Like I said in response to a post by Jan, I get both sides of the political aisle in my media since I tend to monitor more compassionate websites, etc, while Taciturn watches CNBC night and day. Makes me crazy, but at least I know what the financial folks are thinking and saying. That helps me in deciding how I think about an issue.

Not quite an hour ago, I heard a hedge fund manager say the most egregious thing. The arrogance of some of these folks simply is breathtaking. He starts in around 3:40 in the video and the thing that made me rise up out of my chair is at 4:00. Note how Erin Burnett, one of the moderators, immediately interrupts.

(I tried to embed the video here but Blogger wouldn't take the code. Sorry.)

I thought people ask for loans, banks investigate if the people can afford them and then banks make the decision to give the loans. That is the way it is supposed to work anyway. I really doubt there was some huge scheme on the part of everyone in the public. Most people are not that sophisticated when it comes to money. If the bank says you can afford it, of course you can (you think). Grr.

Coming Back Up

2009-03-21T12:50:00.004-04:00

My shingles pain is suddenly much more manageable. I slept all night long. I did not awaken in pain to feel my way into the bathroom for codeine. And-- I just finished my first workout in almost three weeks! Mind you, I walked only half of the time and distance of my usual workout, but that isn't the point. The point is that I got on the treadmill and walked at all! (For those of you who know Weight Watcher activity points, I earned 2. Grin.)

My doctor's excuse covers tonight and tomorrow night at work. I'm glad--I'm still not anxious to go back, and they easily found someone to take my place. I'm not scheduled again until Wednesday afternoon. But, I think if I had been forced somehow into going in, I could have done it.

My friend PB dragged me out yesterday to eat sushi. I felt yucky yesterday morning and would have not gone out, but she said, "You have to eat, don't you?" It took sushi, something I always will have in my life somehow, to get me out of the door. Once out, I began to bloom. Yesterday afternoon, I realized that I felt like a well person feels, as opposed to an ill person. I have my friend to thank for getting me to that point.

Today is a marvelous day to feel well! The sun is shining, it is warm with a breeze, my windows are open, and the birds are singing. I will take the library book I picked up yesterday out onto the deck with a nice glass of wine later to read. I'm doubly glad that I don't have to shut everything up to nap in preparation for work.

Truly this is one of those days that deserve the carpe diem motto. Especially since all good things must come to an end--there is a blizzard watch in effect. The weather prognosticators say that we could get a foot or more of snow on Monday and Tuesday. Ah well, it is March, the time of the spring blizzards.

Time to go to the library for another book. I bet I'll have plenty of time to read. The book I plan to get I've had on hold for a while; The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron, which is highly recommended by Ruth. It came in yesterday after I'd already been there.

By the way, I have continued all week with my pledge to put pen to paper each day. Yesterday I sat down thinking, "I have nothing to write about," then wrote four pages. Once I gave myself permission to do this, it has gotten much easier. And Taciturn, bless him, is beginning to recognize my need for the space in which to do this. If I respect the process, I believe he will as well.

Praying

2009-03-20T09:04:00.003-04:00

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

Mary Oliver

(From today's inward/outward online newsletter)

Pondering vocation

2009-03-18T13:55:00.008-04:00

I wrote a lot yesterday. There is lots to journal today!

Also there is much about which to blog. I don't even know where to start.

Perhaps I'll start with nursing. Nursing, of course, is what I've done to earn money most of my adult life, although much more sporadically in the last ten years.

A couple of things have arisen, not only from my previously mentioned ponderings, but from the current economic morass we are in. Also I must mention an article in the New York Times Well section that resonated with me more than I can say.

Look at my magazine subscriptions, which I did during the week I was breaking out with the shingles. I get magazines about yoga, historical preservation, TEC, cooking, homemaking, and writing. I do not subscribe to a single professional nursing journal. I once did, when I worked full time, and I actually read them, did the quizzes in them, etc. Now it has not occurred to me to do that. I do not pick up any professional nursing reading to do at all.

That says much about my interest level.

Another issue that has arisen is my monetary compensation. The emotional compensation has been decreasing for me as the job gets in the way of the work, if you get my drift. I find my work very satisfying and rewarding, a ministry of sorts. Things were better for a while but our hospital system is going broke, so things are beginning to go badly again in terms of staffing and expectations from management of the workers. And it was just announced yesterday that everyone is getting at least a 3% pay cut. At least people still have jobs; the company is trying to avoid layoffs. But that is a further reduction in emotional compensation for me.

Another problem, to put it bluntly, is that I'm tired of being a verbal punching bag. Some families come to hospice care functional and accepting of the loved one's ultimate process. Many more are not, no matter how hard the counselors work with them. I've been accused of murder and worse, just because I was the person at the desk when a upset family member stormed out of the patient's room looking for blood. People handle this level of stress differently, and some just start swinging (which is why we all wear alarms to alert security if needed). I don't mind being a shoulder to cry on, and I know anything directed at me is not personal. But being a punching bag just gets old, and it seems to happen now much more frequently than it did when I started working. Every shift I worked the week prior to my illness, I had to endure verbal attacks from family members. I'm sure that could have contributed to the onset of my shingles.

And then, there is the NYT article. I've seen this so many times during my full time career, and these are the patients that we at hospice could have done more for had they had gotten to us sooner. Not rarely do we have new patients who die within 24 hours of admission to hospice, before we can get their pain under control or otherwise comfortable. Understandably, family members do not have time to process what is happening to the loved one, and they occasionally lash out. There is intellectual knowledge and gut knowledge.

(There also are miracles. I need to finish up an essay I started a while back about the closest thing to a medical miracle I've ever seen. However, if miracles happened everyday, would they be miracles?)

Now, what to do? Pray, pray, pray. Discern if God is continuing to call me to this work, or is there another call evolving? Interesting times.

Journaling

2009-03-16T18:12:00.007-04:00

I actually sat down and wrote FOUR (yes, four) pages in my previously untouched journal this afternoon.

Thanks to Ruth and to Diane. Ruth for mentioning on several occasions The Artist's Way, which I need to take but urges the discipline of writing three pages a day to get into the habit of daily writing (from what I understand). Thanks to Diane for turning me onto Bill Holm. Today I simply could not hold back and wrote and wrote, then put the journal down and picked it up again, just to write more.

You have no idea how huge this is. I've not written anywhere except on this blog, which is edited for an audience, for three years. I journaled daily when I took a seminary class taught by Kathy Staudt called Spiritual Writing. I took my journal with me everywhere and wrote about lots of stuff, including a day spent at the VA hospital in Washington DC and the bus ride to get there. Also, during that time, I wrote a short story about a situation that the military put several of us in that was not complementary of the supposedly supportive military "that takes care of its own." My story's response was BULLSHIT! We took care of each other and forgot the military.

At the end of the class, though, T came home from his deployment in support of GWB's War on Terror and the writing stopped.

Hmmm.

Of course as soon as I sat down to write, T came downstairs and started talking to me. He'd been napping for an hour. I still got out 4 pages. I have to make the decision that I will not let him distract me, and set limits. I had to do that during the year I was in seminary and will have to do that now.

Hang with me, brothers and sisters.

Gifts from an Unexpected Place

2009-03-15T10:45:00.007-04:00

I've been rather whiny lately.

Physical pain can cause that. As I told the occupational health nurse on Wednesday, "I always understood the pain of my patients on an intellectual level. Now I understand it on a gut level." For example, Taciturn was stunned when I walked away from him in the middle of a conversation a couple of nights ago as I had to take a pain pill NOW. It could not wait. I've had patients literally scream if I was five minutes delayed in bringing pain medication. I get it now.

But, in the midst of all of this, blessings are found.

One I mentioned above, which is an increased empathy for those who suffer. I'd thought that I already did a pretty good job in that arena. One always can improve, though.

Two, I have had time to think and ponder. Why did I get this? What is so out of kilter in my life that my very nerves rebelled? I have my ideas. Among those is the job, which I have been doing much more than usual, and the job--it sucks so much energy out of me even when I'm not doing it that there is little room for the things that nourish and sustain me. And, what, by the way, are the things that nourish and sustain me?

Trying to figure those out is number three on the blessings list. And in figuring them out, what do I do with that information? Do I act on it? Do I blow it off? And what else sucks the life out of me, and how do I respond?

Time and space to actually read is another gift. The space came in Taciturn's absence. Normally his financial shows take up the entire house where there is no quiet space to read, ponder, or write (yes, he absolutely loves Jim Cramer and his sidekicks on CNBC). But after he came back, he realized it would be inconsiderate to interrupt me while on the sofa reading a book by an author recommended by Diane. So he took his financial show watching to the upstairs bedroom. He didn't want to disturb me. That never has happened before. That was a very special gift.

God certainly uses ill for good. Of course I certainly want this illness to go away, but I wouldn't do without these newly gained or re-realized nuggets of blessing.

The last day

2009-03-12T15:39:00.003-04:00

Of the antivirals is today. Hurray!

Yesterday I visited the occupational health nurse of my hospital as instructed to see if my shingles were healed enough for me to be allowed to return to work. The infection control dept would rather I stay home at present. Anyway, she viewed my not at all healed shingles and pronounced that not only do I need to take more time off, my case of shingles is the "worst" she'd seen in a long time.

Great! I love those kind of accolades!

I go back on Monday for another inspection, and since today the rash is starting to crust over, I'm sure from the hospital's point of view I'll be released. I'm scheduled to work all night the next night, but if I feel as punk as I do now, I may ask the doctor for another few days off. The occ health nurse made it clear that the ultimate responsibility for how long I stay off rests with me and my physician.

Taciturn returned home yesterday. He says the visit to Baltimore went much better than he had anticipated, very little arguing. He also said that the Angry White Man is showing unmistakable signs of dementia, examples of which I won't go into here. But that may explain why he has gotten so much meaner to me over the last few years.

Anyway, back to real life! Please pray for Arkansas Hillbilly and his wife as they sweat out a weekend awaiting for some tests to be run on their unborn child. They can't get into the doctor any earlier than Monday. Ugh.